TRANSFORMERS: Aspects of Evil
by YoukoKitsune
Summary: This is Our take of what the third live action transformers movie should be. We don't own Transformers we are just having fun.
1. Chapter 1

**TRANSFORMERS: Aspects of Evil**

Written by

Scott D. Harris & Youkokitsune (AKA Hikari)

**Chapter 1: "New Arrivals"**

Diego Garcia, 1,000 miles south of India, home-base of the Networked Elements: Supporters and Transformers organisation, a joint operation between the United States Army, the British Army and the Autobot warriors. Their ongoing mission was to hunt down and dispose of pockets of Decepticon invaders who posed a threat to the world. In the seven years since they had been established, N.E.S.T. had crushed countless enemy campaigns in every corner of the globe, and with the continued shadow of the interstellar war between the sentient mechanical clans, they would do so again and again, reaching for that bright, bright day when the Autobots could live in peace…if the pen-pushing bureaucrats did not have their way. Garnering support was difficult, but the American government were determined to deport the extra-terrestrial refugees back into deep space. Presently, many Decepticons seemed to have gone into hiding and the members were thankful for this chance to rest and spend time with their families. A skeleton crew were maintaining the island headquarters, so nobody noticed it when the communication array picked up an incoming signal from somewhere outside the stratosphere. A translator programme automatically decoded the message into English on a computer monitor.

…**ENDEAVOUR TO OPTIMUS PRIME…MESSAGE RECIEVED…TRACKER UNIT HAS BEEN COMPROMISED…PLEASE RELAY COORDINATES…DO YOU COPY? …IS ANYONE PRESENT?**

XXX

High above the planet Earth, a silhouette of a troop transport vessel graced the dusty surface of the Moon. It was cigar-shaped, with two pointed ends and a segmented middle. The name, the _Endeavour_, was emblazoned across its bow in silver Cybertronian characters. Three of its crewmembers, the captain included, were on-shift, and striving to respond to the broadcast they had received from their ruler on Earth. The captain murmured incomprehensibly to himself and switched off the hailing frequency. The younger of his two crewmates, a contemplative artist by nature, looked up from his hand-held data pad and asked in their native dialect, a jumble of clicks and beeps, "Still can't raise anyone, Prowl?"

The other crewmate, an old warhorse with a voice like rusty nails, piped up before their captain could, "This reminds me of the scouting expedition I led on the northern hemisphere of Zorgax 9."

"Didn't you tell us that was when everybody back at base was destroyed by the indigenous plant-life, Kup?" Prowl countered in a dry manner.

Kup made a sound like huffing through his ventilation shafts, "Listen ya turbo-revvin' young punk! No plan's _perfect_, ya know!" There was an awkward pause where the only sound was the inner humming of the ship, then the old Autobot continued, "But when all communication is lost, it's never a good thing. I got this feelin' in my processor that something may've gone very, _very_ wrong." His companions looked at him and then at each other. They nodded their heads in agreement.

XXX

Nevada was bathed in warm, comforting noon light. The grounds of St Furman's College were bathed in the ethereal light, an exclamation point on the prideful perfection felt by all. A crowd of spectators stood watching the students receiving their official diplomas, ready to finish ascending that grand ladder of education and climb up onto the platform of the wide world. Positioned behind the spectators were a row of no less than nine vehicles, their metal shells sparkling in the sunbeams; a black truck, a dark yellow 4WD, blue, yellow and red cars, magenta, blue and purple motorcycles and most curiously of all, a whopping great blue truck cab painted with brilliant crimson flames. No one put claim to this rather colourful convoy, and no sound came from them. Everyone, mechanical and biological alike, was deathly silent and listening to the well-dressed man on the stage. He was announcing the last name on the rather lengthy list.

"…And may I present this diploma to the final student in the class of 2013, Mr Samuel A. Witwicky. Well done, my boy, you proved me wrong."

Sam stepped up to receive the holiest of holy documents, looking intellectual but in actuality sweating to death beneath his robe and four-cornered cap. He cast his smiling gaze out to the crowd. Down near the front, his mother was crying waterfalls of joy as his father looked mildly embarrassed while trying to comfort her. Next to them, his long-time girlfriend Mikaela Banes smiled approvingly as the tall, square-jawed Latin-American man beside her gave him the thumbs-up.

The speaker continued, "I speak for not only myself but everyone here at St Furman's when I express how proud but sad we are to see this talented assemblage of students-"

"Get on with it, baldy!" someone called out, followed by a round of stifled chuckles from their compatriots. The speaker took a moment to regain his composure and cleared his throat, "Leaving our hallowed halls. May their futures always be as bright as their minds and imaginations. Thank you." The spectators burst into hearty applause as the students, as is customary, threw their caps into the air.

"Hey, Witwicky," said another student, "wanna come party with us?"

"Love to, guys," replied Sam, "but I got other plans."

"Suit yourself," said the first. "Smell ya later." They punched each other lightly on the fist and went their separate ways. As he made his way to the crowd, his mother threw her arms around him in a bone-cracking hug while sobbing into his shoulder.

"My b-baby's all g-grown up!" she wailed. "I'm s-so hap-p-py!"

"M-Mom!" Sam choked out. "Need air!"

"Let the boy breathe, Judy," said his father. Judy Witwicky gulped to rid the dryness from her throat and let Sam go. She retrieved a handkerchief from the pocket of her flowery blouse and dabbed her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," she chirped. "I…I just…"

"It's okay, Mom," Sam smiled, giving her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. He turned to Mikaela and pulled her into a firm embrace, pressing his lips to hers.

"What the heck," the girl spoke softly as they broke for air, "you deserve that one, college-boy." The tall Latino man slid his arms between the couple to push them apart.

"Hey, hey, hey!" he exclaimed, pretending to tell them off. "How's about you two quit tryin' to eat each other so we can get to the beach…and _par-tay down_!" At this last remark he pumped his fists in the air for emphasis. Sam and Mikaela snickered together at his enthusiasm. Nearby, Mr and Mrs Witwicky decided to leave the kids to their fun and made their way towards their car. As they climbed into the front seats, Mrs Witwicky inhaled and exhaled deeply.

"I always hoped this day would come," she said, "but I never expected it, you know? I mean it seemed only yesterday that I looked down into Sammy's giggling face for the first time, all chubby and beautiful…now he's a big man, and…and he's got his own life too."

"Yep, our boy sure hit the jackpot," Mr Witwicky nodded, then added slyly, "the kids are off to celebrate, why don't we go home and have a little 'celebration,' of our own, hmm?"

"Oh, Ronnie, you bad boy!"

Outside, a voice within the blue sports car grimaced in a juvenile fashion, "Dude, gross."

"Jolt, quit spying on the humans," scowled an older voice from the dark yellow 4WD, slapping the smaller vehicle with a swing of its door.

XXX

The sizzling of beef burgers and frankfurters was intoxicating. The flames under the charcoal grill were like orange rivers between jet black landmasses. To Sam Witwicky and his friends, a barbecue on the beach was the absolute ultimate way to celebrate his achievement. Their tall Latino friend flipped a burger expertly from his spatula to the bun waiting on the cardboard plate.

"Order up!" he said, handing it to the man of the hour.

"Thanks, Raoul," said Sam, "and, uh, thanks for coming all the way from New York to look after Mikaela while I was away."

"Hey, she's my cousin," Raoul replied, shrugging off the younger man's remark as if it were trivial. "An' 'sides, the Big Apple was gettin' kinda stale, y'know? Down here in Tranquility, a mechanic can talk shop with the cars themselves an' if that didn't make the trip worthwhile, I don't know _what_ did." He briefly gestured with his spatula to the nine Transformers who were spread out in their robotic forms of varying sizes. The smaller ones were on the beach itself while many of the larger robots stood on the grassland just above them. A purple-bodied female was inspecting the hot dog in her clawed hand with curiosity.

"So…what do I do with it?" she asked.

"Eat it, duh," replied Mikaela, taking a bite from her own to demonstrate. It is a rare thing to ingest a hot dog without getting a trace of ketchup on one's lips, but like most women, Mikaela Banes could do it flawlessly, as was their odd nature.

"Go on, Corona, take a big ol' bite."

The purple robot hesitated, then opened her mandibles and slid the hot dog into her mouth. She chewed slowly for a moment, then clapped her palms together while making a happy electronic chirping sound. Her two sisters, Arcee and Chromia, shook their heads in unison. Another Autobot not much taller than the fem-bots placed his hand against his the side of his head and released a groan from his damaged vocal module.

"Hey, ease up, Bumblebee," said Sam, patting his trusty car on the leg, "relax and enjoy the party." It was at this point that the conversation was interrupted by excited yapping, followed by a terrified squeal as two small things came bounding across the sand towards the group. The first thing was a minute blue robot with bug-like golden eyes. The other was the Witwicky family's Chihuahua, Mojo.

"Miss Mikaela, he-e-elp!" the robot shrieked, leaping forward and wrapping all four of his limbs round the woman's left leg. He crawled up to her thigh and started wagging one hand at the yapping dog while urging him to shoo away.

"Mojo, sit!" Sam commanded, and the dog obeyed. "And Wheelie, get the heck offa Mikaela you little chrome creepazoid!"

"Aw, leave Wheelie alone, Sam," said Mikaela, picking up the diminutive Autobot and cradling him like a pet (though to be fair, that had been more or less the role he played since they first met back in 2009).

"Gimme a break," Sam huffed, "sometimes you show more affection for that little robo-rat than you do for me."

"Well, at least he's faithful," Mikaela said curtly, intentionally repeating something she had said five years ago. Sam could feel his cheeks heating up as a tell-tale blush spread over his features. He turned away and started wolfing down his hamburger.

"Woo, domestic," Raoul chuckled. Up on the grassland, Ironhide turned to Ratchet.

"So much for them wanting to mate," said the black warrior.

"On Earth, some females _eat_ their mates," replied the yellow medic. Ironhide said nothing. Earth was strange enough already, he did not appreciate that rather surreal mental image, amusing as it appeared. _Perhaps I should warn Bumblebee._

XXX

The _Endeavour_ continued its slow crawl towards the blue planet below. They still had no idea where on this Earth their comrades were and frankly, Prowl was not willing to make a move until they received some kind of answer. The shift was changing and their other three crewmates were making their way to the ship's command bridge. A youthful, athletic soldier stood in Prowl's way as they met in the hallway.

"Still nothing from Prime?" he asked. Prowl shook his head.

"In that case I reckon we should go down and look for them!"

"Don't be foolish, Hot Rod," said Prowl sternly. "We have no idea _what's_ on that planet. Going in without assessing the situation would be tantamount to a suicide run. You should know that." When Hot Rod tried to respond, Prowl raised his hand to silence him, then marched towards his quarters.

"You know," said Kup, "when I was a young 'bot, I would've gone no matter what my superior said if I thought it was the right thing to do."

"And you taught that boy everything he knows!" Prowl exclaimed as his ventilation shafts chattered in the robotic equivalent to a shocked stutter. He turned to head after his young charge, but the next thing he felt was the vibration of roaring thrusters. Unable to maintain his balance against their sudden increase in speed, Prowl crashed into Kup, who crashed into their artistic companion and all three of them slammed into the wall.

XXX

Heathrow was the largest of the United Kingdom's airports, third most active in the world and number one for handling international passenger flights. Prestigious, organised, efficient, though nobody expected it to be the landing site of an alien spacecraft. The black, almost cylindrical vessel appeared like a magician emerging from a tank of water, screeching down towards the ground faster than any aeroplane. For a second, the crew in the control tower thought it was a shooting star, but that was before they could make out the seamless edges and the familiar dark red emblem staring out at them from just above the nosecone.

"Control tower to all incoming flights, veer away!" cried the operator with urgency.

"This is flight 84," crackled a response, "what's going on, control tower?"

"A bloody great spaceship! That's what's going on! Now veer the hell away!" The planes swerved like dancers in the atmosphere as the Autobot ship streaked past them like a great, black phantom. Mere yards from the surface of the runway, it stopped dead, its thrusters shutting down to be replaced by gentler hover turbines. Six landing legs slid smoothly out of the sides and it touched down. All sound from the ship dissipated and it was deathly quiet and still.

"If the Ministry of Defence don't know already," breathed the operator, "let them know."

XXX

Jason Pringle, the Secretary of State for Defence, sat in his office at the M.o.D.'s Whitehall headquarters, viewing the surveillance footage brought to him by his subordinates. He rubbed his temples and sighed. He had just been given the job, and quite frankly he did not feel ready to deal with an interstellar incident just yet. He looked at the lines of bureaucracy available to him and then made his decision.

"Let the Yanks deal with it, the robots seem to like them. Get John Keller on the blower."

"Yes, Mr Pringle," his assistant nodded.

XXX

The call reached Keller at the Pentagon and within the hour, it had been relayed to Optimus Prime himself. Leaving the majority of his warriors to continue enjoying the beach party, the Autobot leader, accompanied by Ironhide, swiftly returned via boat to the base at Diego Garcia. They were greeted by a 40-something man with olive skin, dark eyes and a receding but distinguished hairline. Agent Reginald Simmons, formerly of Sector Seven, had been reinstated as a government official, only now his main duty was acting as a political liaison between the White House and N.E.S.T. (or as certain soldiers called him, 'the Autobots' secretary). He had proven himself during the big battle of '09 (referred to as 'the Egyptian Conflict') and so, despite previous friction with the organisation, was welcomed into it. As the great blue Peterbilt rolled up with the black Topkick in tow, Simmons saluted them.

"The Secretary of Defence is on the phone," he reported, "he wants to speak with you, Optimus Prime."

"Understood," the mighty truck responded from somewhere inside its cab. With a whir of gears and pistons, thousands of mechanical parts shifted and reintegrated themselves into two towering robot warriors. They went inside the base, a collection of connected balconies and stairways set about with enough space in-between for the Autobots to move unhindered. Simmons quickly climbed up to a platform and grabbed the phone receiver lying on its side. Optimus nodded in acknowledgement and the agent punched a button on the side of the cradle, transferring the call to the loudspeakers hanging beneath the platform.

"Prime, this is Keller," boomed the amplified voice of the Secretary of Defence, "you weren't expecting any, uh…relatives, were ya?"

"Not to my knowledge, Mr Secretary," replied Optimus in some confusion. "Have more protoforms made planet-fall?"

"If by 'protoforms,' you mean 'whacking great black cigar,' then sure, why not?"

"Cigar…" Optimus paused, turning to a nearby computer terminal. A thin beam of blue light shot from a point on his forehead becoming a conduit between him and the computer's internet connection, downloading the information straight to his processor. After a split-second, the connection faded and he responded, "You mean the ship was shaped like this 'cigar'?"

"Hit the nail on the head, Big Red," said the voice of Keller.

"It could be the _Misson_," Ironhide chimed in, "or the _Brightstar_, maybe the _Gideon_…"

"Or the _Endeavour_," said Optimus, "I know for certain Prowl's crew made it off Cybertron alive. Mr Secretary, where did the ship make touchdown?"

"Heathrow Airport," replied Keller, "I hope you like fish and chips, Prime, because you're heading for Britain."

XXX

The two Autobots, accompanied by a small platoon of N.E.S.T. soldiers, arrived at the airport in good time. Throughout the whole voyage, Optimus had been trying to open a hailing frequency with the vessel, but there was no response, and an increasing feeling of disconcertion welled up inside him. What if something had happened to the crew? Could they have been intercepted and boarded by Decepticon raiders? The thought sent a chill down his spine. Rolling up the runway to the vessel, Optimus and Ironhide shifted back to their humanoid shapes. The Autobot leader reached for a specially built megaphone carried on a military jeep and put it to his steely lips.

"Crew of the _Endeavour_," he said, his rough, deep tones echoing through the megaphone, "this is Optimus Prime. If anybody in there is still functional, please respond."

"Don't you know it's rude not to answer when someone calls you back?!" Ironhide thundered in Cybertronian. Optimus moved to silence him but within an instant, the door of the ship was blasted open and a hulking, steely blue figure rampaged across the tarmac, grabbing the (surprisingly) shorter robot by the shoulder and shaking him vigorously.

"Don't you speak to me about manners, ya little glitch!" Kup snarled. "I was teaching _you_ about manners when you were just a hatchling!" Two heads peered carefully round the side of the door; one was boxy with two yellow fins curving out of the sides, while the other was rounder with a solid, wraparound faceplate and long, pointed ears.

"What a welcoming committee, eh, Wheeljack?" chortled the first.

"Tell me this is just a nightmare, Sunstreaker," groaned the mortified second. Optimus slid his arms between the ranting elderly robot and his former charge in an attempt to play the referee.

"Kup," he said, "I'm sorry for Ironhide's rudeness, but please calm yourself, you're worrying the humans." Kup glanced at the gathered N.E.S.T. soldiers, government operatives and airport staff clustered together a few yards from them. All were on tenterhooks, either clutching their weapons cautiously or striving not to wet themselves in fear. After a thoughtful pause, Kup shrugged, "A little fear's good for 'em. Reminds 'em they're alive."

"Be that as it may," Optimus said, clearing his throat for emphasis, then realised he was not sure quite what to say, "it's…it's good to see you again." As this conversation continued and the Autobot leader explained the basic rules that their species had to adhere to on Earth, a purple car drove into the airport car-park. Inside, there was the crackle of a communicator and a gentle, commanding voice murmured, "Strika to mother-ship, the target has reached terra firma. Will continue monitoring and report any significant findings.

**THIS IS OUR CAST LIST **

**FOR THE NEW CHARACTERS**

**IF WE WERE ACTUALLY MAKING THIS MOVIE.**

Tilda Swinton..........STRIKA (Lotus Elise)

Jonathan Rhys Meyers...SUNSTREAKER (Lamborghini Murciélago)

Alan Rickman...........PROWL (Ford Granada Mark II)

Bruce Campbell.........KUP (Renault Radiance)

Adam Savage............WHEELJACK (Nissan Cube)

Jason Statham..........HOT ROD (Dodge Charger LX)

Stephen Fry............TRACKS (Chevrolet Corvette C6 ZR1)

Anthony Anderson.......JOLT (Chevrolet Volt)

Helena Bonham Carter...CORONA (Ducati 1098)

Ben Barnes.............RAOUL BANES


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: "Orders from the Top"**

It was not long before news channels the world over were broadcasting the arrival of the _Endeavour_ and its Autobot crew. Whether visual or audio, television or radio, everybody was tuning in to the story. The giant robots were still a matter of much discussion; gossip circles, conspiracy theory message-boards, even school newsletters.

"An object believed to be an Autobot space vessel landed at Heathrow Airport…" said Huw Edwards on _B.B.C. One._

"…Reports are unsure of how many robots were seen to emerge from the craft…" continued Francois Picard on _France 24_.

"…Somewhere between 4 and 40…" added Kam Kamaruddin on _Radio24 Malaysia_.

"…Both the White House and the Pentagon are in talks…" put in Jim Ribble on _C.N.N. Radio._

"The aliens are back!" someone exclaimed in a Spanish chat room.

The united N.E.S.T. operatives, along with the new arrivals, returned to Diego Garcia post-haste. Prowl's crew had all downloaded the English language from that holiest of holy sanctuaries which humans know as 'the Web,' and also scanned vehicular forms they each felt suited their specific tastes. Wheeljack's audio receptors buzzed with a powder blue light as he tuned in to the news.

"Well shift my gearstick," he purred in an almost flattered fashion, "all this fuss over little old us?"

"Hey, Big Ears!" Arcee barked up at the taller robot. "That's not necessarily a good thing!"

Sideswipe snorted. "Try tellin' that to Tracks and my brother."

"There's no such thing as bad publicity," Tracks and Sunstreaker chorused, then glared like they were trying to burn laser-holes in each other's face-plates.

"Don't you step on _my_ lines you impudent little milquetoast," Tracks growled, giving the yellow-bodied artist a hard shove.

"You wanna get rough, tomato-face?" Sunstreaker retorted, reciprocating the move on the royal blue thespian. "I'll frag your keester so hard people will think you're a modern art piece!"!

"Guys, guys, guys," Hot Rod intervened, "there's an easy way to settle this." With that, he promptly put their heads together and let them slide to the ground in a dazed state. He dusted off his hands and rejoined the rest of the group, whistling merrily.

Kup blew air through his vents as if he were sighing, "Some 'bots ain't go no discipline." He loomed over Tracks and Sunstreaker as they slowly got to their feet. "You lads watch yourselves. We're guests here, and I was always taught that guests show civility. So if ya start kickin' up a stink, I'll hand yer afterburners over to Ratchet for cleanin' duty. That goes for you too, Hot Rod."

"What'd I do?" Hot Rod protested, feigning innocence. Kup rolled his optics. Nearby, a few human soldiers could not help but laugh amongst themselves at the ridiculous behaviour of the metal giants.

"Christ, man, it's like watchin' _The Three Stooges_ or somethin'," Technical Sergeant Robert Epps observed, struggling to tame the smile threatening to split his dark face in half.

"Hey, so long as they're on our side, they can be as stupid as they want," said Major William Lennox.

XXX

With the Autobots dealing with their own problems, Sam, Mikaela and Raoul had decided to continue their own celebrations at the Banes household. As the night grew steadily later, the thrill of the graduation faded, leaving Sam Witwicky feeling drained, and he was asleep the second his head hit the pillow. When he opened his eyes, he was surrounded by a great, vast, unending nothingness. Though he could see naught, he was certain he stood on a solid surface. The sensation of millions of tiny hooks pulling at his skin drew him to walk forwards. From nowhere, greyish fog flooded round his legs and crawled up round his body.

"Somebody leave a smoke machine on?" he asked nobody in particular. As if someone had flicked a switch, the nothingness was replaced by the classical setting of a Greek theatre. An alien sun shone high above, the rows upon rows of seats were constructed of a jet black material that was as smooth and magnificent as polished marble.

"Whoa…"

"Welcome, Sam Witwicky," called a voice. Sam whirled round in surprise and found himself looking up at six tall, exo-skeletal figures with shimmering, obsidian skin and carmine eyes. Each one carried a long staff topped with a different celestial shape.

"Oh God, not you guys," Sam groaned. "Am I dead again?"

_…Sam…_

"Wha…?" Sam turned again, and wished he had not. He was momentarily blinded by an incredible ethereal light. When his eyes adjusted, he was awestruck at what awaited him. A huge, round _thing_ hovered in mid-air, surrounded on all sides by a field of revolving golden characters that seemed to move in random directions with no kind of pattern, like an insane Rubik's Cube. The field obscured the colour and exact size of the thing, but Sam could make out seven identically-sized holes in its surface. Several groups of Transformers now sat in the rows of seats, watching with the intensity of hard-working, nay, mesmerised students.

"We regret to disturb you, young one," said the leader of the Six Primes, "but we have need of you once again."

"What am I? Your errand boy?" Sam asked indignantly as his senses came back to him.

"You're whatever we need you to be, _human_," sneered another Prime.

"Hush, Sentinel Prime," said a third. "Such a tone will not be tolerated here." The leader placed one hand around Sam's shoulder and ushered him forward while addressing the thing, "Vector Sigma, this is the boy." The Primes walked backwards until they seemed to melt into the ambience, and Sam's attention was fixated solely on the two entities growing feet-first from the bottom of the golden field. They stood back-to-back, an old man in the body of a Greek scholar facing the boy, and a beautiful Egyptian priestess behind him, speaking inaudibly to the Transformers, who listened to her with wrapt interest.

"I greet you," said the scholar. Sam blinked, and found the avatars had swapped places. The tall, slender priestess was now leaning slightly towards him as the scholar continued their unheard class, swishing his arms dramatically above his head.

"I chose a form I believed your mind could comprehend," said the priestess. "Is it not functional?"

"Uh, n-no, perfectly functional," Sam forced a painful-looking grin, "what do you want from me?" _Please God don't let me look at her cleavage…_

Blink! The scholar again.

"Long ago," said he, "when your people were still young, Cybertron fell victim to a horrible poison. It caused a quarrel to rise amongst our disciples, and then to a schism within the populace. These political arguments escalated into all-out war, my efforts to bring calm went unheeded, and now everything lies in ruin…the planet is dead."

"Thanks for the history lesson," said Sam dryly, "but what does this have to do with me?"

Blink! The priestess again.

"I am incomplete but it is not too late," said she, reaching out a long, slender arm and pressing one fingertip to the middle of Sam's brow, "our destiny holds the key…to salvation…or…_destruction_." The world around them was swallowed by an unspeakable evil. Dripping, silver fangs like broad-bladed daggers soared towards Sam. He screamed…

When Sam's vision regained clarity, he was back in the bedroom, lying on the floor in a tangle of sheets. Mikaela gazed down at him from her perch on the bed. A moment, almost a minute, passed between them in icy soundlessness.

Finally, she asked, "What's up, Sam? Did you have that nightmare about John Travolta's career again?" Sam opened his mouth to respond when the door opened as Raoul burst in excitedly.

"Hey, you guys have gotta check out who's on…" his voice faded as he took in the scene, "…play rough?" A pillow struck him across the face.

XXX

Simmons did _not_ want to have to deal with this. When N.E.S.T. had regrouped back at their headquarters, they had come across a rather unpleasant surprise waiting for them. A government official was getting out of a black helicopter, and was presently arguing with the former secret service agent over one single-minded bill; the exile of all Autobots from planet Earth. The official, who introduced himself as Agent Bay, was a rotund Caucasian man in his 40s, with short, brown-grey hair and conniving, owl-like eyes.

"After everything these guys have done, you wanna kick 'em off-world?!" Simmons demanded.

"Uncle Sam signs your paycheques, Simmons," replied Bay snidely, "you know how these things work."

_Was __**I**__ this much of an ass when I worked for Sector Seven?_ Simmons wondered, rhythmically clenching and unclenching his fists, trying with all his willpower to keep a lid on his outrage.

"Well," he said venomously, "all I know is that the last dimwit who poked around here uninvited with bad news…well, I actually I don't know what happened, but nobody's seen him since." Bay faltered. Rumours had spread around the department regarding the fate of Theodore Galloway. Some believed him dead or missing, others said the stress of his encounter with N.E.S.T. led him to retire. Still, if Bay wanted to eat that month, he had to do his job. He cleared his throat and straightened his tie (every pencil-pusher's basic training).

"I won't stand for threats, Agent Simmons," he said sternly.

"We don't _make_ threats," said a grinding voice behind him. Bay turned, and almost fainted at the imposing figure of Ironhide. The other Autobots were gathered around their star gunman. Optimus Prime, like Zeus himself, stood grandly above them all, arms crossed over his broad chest, his epic stillness radiating with power.

"Uh, Simmons?" Bay leaned towards the other man and spoke in a whisper. "How do you think I should break it to them?"

"If you want my advice," Simmons replied, "don't break it to them at all. They kinda like it here. But if you really have to, I'd suggest you avoid the Topkick."

"You got something to say to us, human?" Ironhide demanded, the whirring of his inner gears like the growl of a hungry crocodile. Bay took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the nervous sweat from his forehead.

"W-well, the government is, uh, very thankful for all your help, but you see, that is, something came up and…" A blue robot just a little taller than the man rolled forward on her single wheel and jabbed him in the chest with one thick finger.

"Get on with, will ya?" Chromia sniped.

"Um, yes, of course, I'm sorry…uh…ma'am?"

The fem-bot grumbled irately and folded her left hand into its gun form, but when she saw the stern looks she was getting from both Optimus and her sister Arcee, she retracted the weapon and rolled away in a huff.

_Definately female. Reminds me of my ex,_ thought Bay. He took a deep breath to calm himself. Talking, shape-shifting robots from outer space. This was ridiculous. The only reason they gave this job to him rather than a trained ambassador was because they were all too scared. He was expendable. Just another desk-monkey. Well, he would definitely demand a raise, nay, a promotion for this. He had enough dirt on just about everybody in the department. It was as good a day as any to use that.

"You all have to leave the planet," he told them with as much professionalism as he could muster. "The American government has been defending you in the public eye and keeping you appropriately sustained for years, despite the already staggering national debt, because we thought we would have a productive use for you. But if Autobots are going to keep arriving out of the blue like this, then we simply cannot afford to keep it up. I'm sorry, but consider yourselves evicted."

"Why you slimy little…" Ironhide hissed, unfolding his cannons. Kup reached out and put a hand on his old student's shoulder.

"Easy there, lad," he said. "Wait 'till they start runnin', _then_ shoot 'em." Optimus threw the warhorse a disapproving glare, then turned his attention to Bay.

"We promised we would leave when asked," he said tonelessly, "and we will adhere to that, but you must allow us the time to prepare."

"I was told 48 hours would suffice," said Bay.

"48 hours would _not_ suffice," Ratchet butted in. "We'd need at least a week!" Bay smiled meanly up at them. He had the upper hand now. They were going against the government's decree, and to his mind, that gave him right of way.

"My orders say 48 hours and that's my final word on the subject, good day to you gentlemen and…ah…ladies." He turned on his heels and marched back to the awaiting helicopter.

When Bumblebee heard the news over his com-link, he quickly alerted Sam and headed for the island (with Mikaela and Raoul both insisting that they come along for the ride). The Autobots and their human friends were busily packing up their equipment, and the headquarters was starting to look more like a warehouse than a top secret military outpost. Kup directed Bumblebee, Hot Rod, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker and Tracks as they disassembled and boxed up several large alien devices. Major Lennox and his men knew for a fact that the old man had been left with a usually unruly group, but they were working in complete silence.

"This is bullshit, sir," said Epps, "them guys an' us guys, we risk our butts fightin' Decepticon scum so they can sleep at night, an' they wanna toss 'em out? Makes me sick to be human sometimes."

"I know, old buddy," replied Lennox. "We're all in this team together, so I'm goin' with 'em."

"You're crazy, sir," Epps smiled. "I'm goin' too, 'cause life without the Autobots won't be the same. We'll be boldly goin' where no trigger-happy crazies have gone before."

Kup checked the time-sheet on the data-pad he was holding and opened a com-channel with Ratchet, "We're behind schedule, saw-bones. This'd go a lot faster if you'd lend me Jolt."

"For the fifth time," crackled the response bluntly, "I am _not_ lending you my apprentice. Not when I've got an entire med-bay to put in storage."

Kup shook his head. "Where in the name of Primus are Prowl and the others?"

"Prowl took the femmes to collect energy for the trip. We've got the _Endeavour_'s power-cell and three whole ration tanks to fill. Meanwhile, Prime and Ironhide have gone to Washington to see if they can negotiate for more time."

Kup started, "Then what about Whee-"

Ratchet interrupted, "_Wheeljack_ is currently under my close supervision, labelling _crates_."

In the medical bay, Wheeljack sat in the corner, dejected and annoyed, stamping Cybertronian characters on large, wooden crates with a Transformer-sized label gun while Sam and Mikaela worked together using a second gun to print accompanying labels in English (with Wheelie interpreting for them). Wheeljack was muttering clicks and beeps to himself in an agitated fashion.

"Wheelie, what's he saying?" Mikaela whispered to her pet.

"You don't wanna know," said Wheelie.

"Why've I gotta do this monkey-job?!" Wheeljack suddenly bellowed, a phrase that the two humans took great offence to. Ratchet looked up from what he was doing behind a console to briefly glower at the younger Autobot before speaking, "Because, if you'd care to remember, when I asked you to take apart the C.R. chamber, the whole room was flooded with coolant! That's why we are also two hours behind. When we are back on schedule, I _might_ be in a good enough mood to assign you something less menial." Once again, Sam and Mikaela were insulted. They had predicted some of the soldiers might want to go along for the ride, and saw translating potentially dangerous implements as an important task.

"It's not fair," Sam murmured, "I can't believe I'm gonna lose the best friends I ever had…"

"Oh, Sam…" Mikaela sighed, wrapping her arms around his waist, attempting to comfort him. She could have sworn she heard his heart breaking in twain. Sam lowered his voice even more so only she would hear. "If Bumblebee goes, then so do I." The girl's eyes widened.

XXX

The burning hot sands of the Nevada Desert were thankfully harmless if one could shut off their nerves and have cooling liquid running through their bodies, and such was the advantage held by Prowl and Corona as they manned a makeshift energising station. The sun's rays were captured in a set of revolving solar panels, which processed the light into precious and life-preserving Energon before depositing it in the awaiting ration tank.

"The first tank should be filled by the end of the solar cycle," said Prowl, eyes on his data-pad. "Arcee and Chromia should be done with the fuel-cell at around the same time…" He noticed Corona was gazing at a nearby rock formation and released a shrill beep from his throat to regain her attention. The purple fem-bot jumped slightly.

"With luck, we can finish the other two tanks tomorrow and…"

She was gone again.

"Corona, _what_ are you looking at?"

"I saw something moving behind that boulder," the femme replied, pointing towards the rock formation. Prowl's soldier-senses twanged and he knelt down beside her, his right hand reshaping itself into a blaster.

"Are you certain?" he asked.

"Positive. I saw it three times," said Corona.

"Human?"

The femme shook her hand and mouthed the word 'human,' while holding her fingers just a little apart, then mouthed the word 'this,' and spread her hands at shoulder-width. Prowl nodded and gestured with his remaining digits. The two Autobots cautiously approached the rock formation from two different directions. The only sounds were the subtle whooshes of their movements and the soft singing of the desert wind. Closer and closer they crept. Corona unfolded her left arm into its weapon mode. Her wires fizzed with trepidation. Closer…then…

BAM!

A purple car propelled itself into the air, sending clouds of grit in every direction. With a shifting of parts, the car transformed into a heavily built fem-bot with the Decepticon insignia etched clearly on her breast.

"Decepticon!" Corona cried, priming her weapon. Strika cackled nastily, twisting in the air and firing rockets from the cylindrical chambers on her shoulders. The projectiles struck the desert floor and the shockwaves sent the two Autobots flying away from her. The Decepticon scout planted both feet into Prowl's stomach on her descent and she proceeded to pummel the courageous robot. Corona transformed into her motorcycle mode and gunned towards the enemy, crashing into Strika's side and ploughing her along the ground.

"Impudent little girl," Strika scowled. "I'll swallow your still pulsating Spark." Her superior strength forced the smaller femme into robot mode. She wrapped one fist around Corona's head and the other around her right arm, pulling them in opposite ways. Flecks of white heat spat from Corona's joints as she released a scream of agony.

"CORONA! Hang on, I'm coming!" Prowl raced towards the struggling females, firing on Strika. A laser-coated bolt passed through the scout's shoulder, forcing her to release her prey's arm and allowing her to hang limply from her other fist. Prowl had Strika's head in his crosshairs, but the Decepticon still had the upper hand.

"Lower your blaster, Autobot," she threatened, "or I'll squeeze the life out of this waste of parts."

Corona hissed through her pain, raising her cannon to her captor's temple.

"Squeeze _this_, Decepti-creep!" She unloaded both barrels and the force threw Strika across the ground and slammed her into another rock formation. Prowl knelt down and cradled Corona's body. "Are you all right?"

"N…N-nothing Ratchet can't fix, sir," Corona forced a salute. The shell of her right arm hung loosely from her frame. Strika grunted as she struggled to her feet, spluttering and coughing up oil. She turned to her opponents, eyes glowing dangerously. Half of her head casing had been blown clear off, revealing the greasy black skull beneath.

"Somebody call a plastic surgeon," Corona croaked.

"Um…a what?" Prowl blinked.

"You will regret scarring me, Autobot," Strika's voice was low and brimming with burning rage and boiling hatred. Prowl and Corona tensed. Strika lunged forward releasing a feral scream, launching two more rockets.

"Look out!" Prowl cried, picking up Corona and running for both their lives, but the rockets were faster, impacting on the ground and tossing the Autobots helplessly into the air. Strika switched on propulsion jets in her feet and flew up towards Corona, grabbing the smaller femme's single leg in both hands and swinging her like an Olympic hammer.

"Give my regards to the Pit," she said viciously, letting go and cackling with hideous glee as her victim disappeared over the horizon. She returned to the ground just as heat sputtered from her damaged cranium. She had to retreat and recuperate, because if that other Autobot came back with enough anger in him over his companion, she would not last long. She transformed back into her car state and rolled away. Prowl dragged himself out of the crater left where he had landed and his vocal circuit clipped out a drawn out and painful-sounding, "Co…ro…na…no…"

The young femme did not move for what felt like an eternity. Every inch of her body was wracked with pain, pieces of her shell and frame lay around her. Through sheer luck, or perhaps the will of Primus, her vital fuel-lines had not been severed. If she could get a message out in time, she would live, hopefully. She activated her com-link and called weakly to her leader, "…C-Corona to Prime…h-help…"

XXX

For obvious reasons, the meeting between the two Transformers and the American government had to take place on the grounds of the White House rather than inside. The President, surrounded by bodyguards and aids, listened graciously to Optimus Prime's plea.

"Mr President," said the Autobot ruler, "if I may be so bold, we have no home to go back to, and we are willing to share our technology with humankind on a much grander scale than before. We can aid development for non-pollutant fuels, weapons that work on an atomic level so there would no longer be a need to kill."

"And don't you think we're something of a deterrent to your enemies?" Ironhide put in. The aids chuckled. The President stroked his chin thoughtfully, then turned his gaze up to the taller of the two robots.

"Optimus Prime," he said, "while I cannot quite sympathise with your personal plight, I will admit that there have been no significant Decepticon-related threats for a while now, and if our P.R. men can keep the public on your side, we could reach an arrangement. Furthermore-"

"C-Corona to Prime…h-help…" crackled a small voice.

"Corona?" Optimus put two fingers to the side of his head. "Are you all right? You sound hurt."

"I…I'm okay, Prime," said Corona, "but…but…Prowl and me…attacked…De…cepti…con…" Ironhide saw the suddenly hostile expressions on the humans and his face fell. "Oh, slag."

"You have one week," said the President. "Meeting adjourned."

XXX

It was extremely good luck that the _Endeavour_ had a half-decent on-board infirmary. Prowl's injuries were mere chassis-wounds and easily repaired, but Corona was in a critical condition despite her brave insistance. Ratchet took two steps back from the operating table and wiped oil from his brow.

"I've done all I can," he said to Arcee and Chromia. "The C.R. chamber will do the rest."

The two other sisters crowded round their purple sibling.

"Why didn't you call us, sis?" asked Arcee, stifling her concern with sternness.

"Sorry I scared you guys," said Corona in a tiny voice.

"I blame that Prowl," growled Chromia, punching her palm. "Wait 'till I get my hands on him, I'll shove his nose up his afterburner!"

"Don't be mad at Prowl, Chromia," said Corona, "if he weren't there, I'd probably be scrap now."

"Fine…but I'm still gonna sock 'im one," the blue femme huffed. Arcee waved her off and slung one of her youngest sister's arms over her shoulders and said, "Come on, kid, let's get you to the C.R." Chromia took the other arm and they carefully set her inside the black cylindrical tank embedded in the wall. Ratchet closed the transparent lid and pressed a few switches on the side, setting a time and intensity. Corona waved at her sisters before she was shut down and yellow-green liquid was pumped into the chamber.

Outside, the Autobots continued their work, but nothing could hide the despair shared by all. As Optimus Prime made his way towards the _Endeavour_ carrying a crate on his shoulder, Sam ran alongside him, trying to get his attention.

"Prime!" he cried out. "Optimus, please, listen to me!"

"Later, Sam," Optimus sighed.

"But it's important!" Sam protested. "Vector Sigma!" Optimus froze, almost dropping the crate he was carrying. He knelt down and asked in a stunned way, "How do you know about Vector Sigma?" Sam tapped his temple with two fingers as Lennox, Mikaela and Raoul approached with interest etched on their features.

"The Allspark is still in my brain," Sam explained, "and I think Vector Sigma's using it to contact me. It mentioned something about destiny, that it could mean either salvation or destruction."

"This is incredible, Sam," said Optimus, "do you realise what you're saying? Vector Sigma is the life-form from which the first Transformers were born. If it's really still alive, then maybe we can restore Cybertron."

"There's a problem," said Sam, "in the dream, it said something about being incomplete, and I saw this thing with seven holes in it. I think if we can find the seven missing pieces, Vector Sigma could return to full power. I'm sure the Allspark is one piece, and I was thinking maybe the Matrix of Leadership could be another, considering how important it was to the ancient Primes."

"But the Matrix was destroyed in Petra," Optimus pointed out.

"That's a negative, Prime," Lennox chimed in. "We retrieved it from the ruins of the Solar Harvester. It's been in storage ever since. Getting it out shouldn't be a problem."

"Whaddaya say, Optimus?" Sam asked hopefully. Optimus pondered this, then nodded, "It's a long-shot, Sam, but if there's even the slimmest chance we can restore Cybertron, we can try."

"The Allspark's still in my brain," Sam repeated as an excited, lopsided grin formed between his lips. "Looks like I'm going into space."

"You're not going without me," said Mikaela, grabbing her lover's shoulder affectionately.

"An' if my cousin goes, I go," Raoul piped up.

"What the hell," Lennox smirked, "after fighting Decepti-scum, savin' a planet's gonna be a cakewalk."

XXX

Certainly it was an exhilarating prospect, but breaking the story to the families was not as easy as they had hoped. Sam and Mikaela debated with the Witwicky parents for a good while before their son explained the truth, and even then he had to escape his doting mother's deadly embraces and fussing. When his father told him he had gone farther than he ever imagined, Sam could not help feel just a little guilty, but he could not just change his mind. He had a job to do. Raoul had never had a great relationship with his own parents, but the prospect of losing their only son brought out all kinds of emotions that were strange to them. Across the phone-line, they begged him to come back to New York, but that soon gave way to wishes of good luck and to do right by the Banes name. The Lennox family argued for hours on end, and the last thing Sarah said before her husband left the house was, "Don't expect me to be here when you get back, you dumb asshole." Their young daughter Annabelle watched silently from her bedroom window. She knew her father would be all right. After all, in her eyes, he was the bravest dad in the whole wide world.

By the end of the week, the _Endeavour_ was mounted on a ramp and ready for launch. The Autobots and their human companions sat together inside, hairs or wires standing on end with anticipation. Optimus Prime and Prowl sat at the control console.

"Prowl, commence countdown."

"5…4…3…2…1…blast off!"

The ship's thrusters roared to life and as the remaining human soldiers saluted their departing comrades, it disappeared up and up into the atmosphere. Optimus concentrated, calling on the power given to him by that eccentric but noble old galactic knight. The power of the space bridge. His optics faded from blue to a gentle red and an ethereal glow leaked from the crevices in his armour. The _Endeavour_ broke through the invisible shields surrounding the planet Earth. Hot Rod thought, _And I never got to find out what it's like to go fishing,_ as reality turned to crystal rain and the ship disappeared from our solar system for the last time…

XXX

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Cast and vehicles introduced in this chapter;

Wayne Knight...........AGENT BAY

Jack Black.............SIDESWIPE (Lamborghini Gallardo)

Stephen Fry............TRACKS (Chevrolet Corvette C6 ZR1)

Uma Thurman............CHROMIA (Suzuki Hayabusa)


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: "The Offer"**

Beneath the silvery, crater-ridden surface of the Moon, there existed a nest. Not an ordinary nest. Like a wasp's, its solitary architect had fashioned it from chewed up and twisted materials. A honeycomb of black metal. The pods that once contained developing life were like shrivelled, sun-dried raisins. Small. Useless. Dead. Oozing with the foul-smelling remains of the embryonic fluid that once sustained the creatures suspended within.

It almost brought Starscream to tears to see his hard work, to see his _children_, the next generation of Cybertronians, losing their lives to the old zombie in the corner. Scavenging sufficient resources to process into Energon without being found out was getting harder and harder each time, and he was putting himself through great pains to bring in enough.

Taking a large bowl of black liquid flecked with sickly pink and white, he poured the stuff down a tube, where it was distributed equally among a multitude of thin umbilical pipes to the remaining pods. From the hundreds he had started out with, now there were but a mere twenty-five left. Starscream exhaled through his ventilation shafts. When the bowl was empty, he watched the liquid Energon crackle inside the pods, then turned to glare hatefully at the useless creature crouched like an old gargoyle in the shadows.

"This is all your fault, you know," said the winged warrior, approaching his roommate. "We _could_ have been gathering resources. We _had_, for just a moment, the greatest source of energy in the cosmos, and we lost it because _you_ were following a piece of _junk_ with a vendetta!" By now he had worked himself up into a screech that did justice to his name. His companion said nothing, did nothing.

"So much for the _mighty_ Megatron," Starscream mumbled, kicking the ancient High Lord in the side. No response. The warrior hissed, then his com-link crackled.

A monotone voice spoke in his head, "Soundwave reporting. Unfamiliar Decepticon energy signatures detected on Earth. Coordinates; grid theta-delta."

"Do we have any troops in the area?" Starscream asked.

"Barricade," said Soundwave.

"Then alert him and give order to intercept."

"Acknowledged. Soundwave out." The channel closed.

XXX

Barricade had been in hiding since the Battle of Mission City, returning to Tranquility and allowing himself to be used as an ordinary police car, even scanning a second one to rid himself of the tell-tale signs of his true nature; the Decepticon insignia for one, and the caption _'to punish and enslave,'_ had been exchanged for the traditional motto of most U.S. police departments, _'to protect and serve_.' Barricade enjoyed the added perversity of it. After all, were they not _Decep_ticons? Presently, the black-and-white Saleen was parked outside a run-down block of flats somewhere in the city's western sector as the rays of dusk-light bounced off his skin and coated everything in a relaxing amber blush. His 'owner,' one Jake Patrolski, was dragging a moustachioed criminal across the pavement towards him.

Barricade sort of liked Patrolski. Not the bit about being a good, decent cop, that was boring. Barricade liked the man's ruthlessness, his inherent inability to show mercy to those who broke the law on his turf. Maybe there was hope for these human beings after all. Patrolski slammed the criminal over the car's bonnet (one thing Barricade did _not_ appreciate) while calling it in. The man, who wore a simple pair of denim dungarees and muddy boots, was a brawny Russian immigrant who had failed to find honest work due to his criminal record back home, and had returned to his old ways despite his best intentions. Alexei Nogudnik was his name.

"Okay, tough guy," said Patrolski, snapping the handcuffs on, "let's go down the station." Nogudnik cursed in Russian. Patrolski made a nonchalant, 'mm-hmm,' sound before popping open the back door and shoving the scumbag inside. The officer got into the driver's seat and started the engine. Dusk was giving way to evening as they turned into the appropriately named Station Avenue. A purple car sped past them.

"Lotus Elise," Patrolski noted, "my brother's got one o' those, nice car." A light flashed on the dashboard, a light that should not have been there, and reminded the officer of a malevolent eye.

"Wha…?"

"Soundwave calling Barricade," echoed a strange voice from the eye, "new target assigned. Initiate operation: pursuit-and-capture."

"Finally some action!" croaked a throaty response. All around Patrolski and Nogudnik, the car started shifting around as if it were alive. The officer booted open the door and leapt out, saving his own skin as the struggling, panicking criminal was swallowed by the mess of components. He looked up in fear as clawed hands and a monstrous face grew out of the Saleen, and inside its skeletal frame, Nogudnik's screams were cut off by the sound of bones snapping and guts being mushed to gravy. Squish! Splort! Chi-kack! Red, copper-smelling blood leaked out from the crevices. The robot snorted and writhed, then opened its mandibles wide and began coughing violently, vomiting up a mushy pile of dead meat. The gore was slick with green, brown and pink slime, yellow-white fractures jutted out at awkward angles. It was impossible to tell where the poor scuzz's body ended and his clothes began. A crumpled eyeball sat on top like a nightmarish cherry. Patrolski whined and groaned, rolling up on all fours and letting his half-digested lunch spill onto the pavement.

"Oh, God!" he cried, bringing up chunks of Panini and the hot stench of juiced coffee. "Oh, shit! Oh, God, Christ!"

Barricade wiped goo from his lips and spun on his heels, taking off down the road after the purple car. His onboard sensors picked up no organic life within it, so it was Cybertronian, and possibly Decepticon judging by what he could glean from the patches of exposed inner-frame, but it was not one he recognised. He was personally acquainted with every 'con under Megatron's command. He snarled in disgruntlement as human cars poured out from the side-streets, getting in his way and slowing him down. It would be faster on wheels, so he returned to his police car state and streaked along, his sirens blaring to warn off anybody smart enough to pay attention. The purple car put on speed, and he followed suit, twisting and turning as the Moon rose out of its hiding place. The chase took them across the drawbridge that separated Tranquility's downtown core from Grovewell Park. The purple car screeched to a halt by a fountain topped with a statue of an angel with its arms before it. Strika transformed to robot mode, as did Barricade.

"You!" the black robot demanded. "Name and function, now!" Strika tittered and pointed to something behind Barricade. He turned, but the next sensation he felt was a heavy impact across his face, plunging him into the umbrella of unconsciousness.

When Barricade's optics fizzled back on, his systems ran a diagnostic check. Minimal damage. His spine was a little left of centre and his processor had been jogged off a few of its link-up cables. He tried to move, but he was tied down. Looking around, he realised he was on a ship of Cybertronian origin. One that was in pristine condition. He could make out two figures talking, and as his vision and hearing regained full clarity, he felt a distinct line of shock run through his circuits. There was a tall one seated in what appeared to be a floating throne. He was wearing handsome, slate grey armour accented with green and with Cybertronian characters tattooed on his chest. His right forearm was covered by a white-gold gauntlet with a blue gem on the back of the hand. His face-plate was long and brought to mind a skull, with high, sharp cheeks and black markings around the optics. The second was bright red in colour with a horned head casing and designs reminiscent of a European medieval knight. A scabbard hung at his left hip. Yes, these two were known to him. Lockdown and Bludgeon, who once competed in the inter-city gladiatorial duels, were legends in their own right. Lockdown the Undefeated started his military career when the war was still young, beginning as the humblest and lowest of all soldiers, but his infallible charisma and cruelty allowed him to rise through the ranks until he reached the title of General. Bludgeon had appeared a short time later, but with no notable background Megatron had not spared him a second glance. Lockdown had discovered the young soldier and according to legend they met in combat. Nobody was sure of the outcome, but when the two emerged, Bludgeon was declared as the general's top lieutenant. An expert in all three of Cybertron's martial art styles, his strict, disciplined adherence to the code meant he would always, always play second to his unpredictable master. Barricade knew in an instant that he was well and truly doomed.

"Dear Bludgeon," Lockdown cooed, "did you really have to string him up over the bridge? He hardly matches the décor."

"I apologise, My Lord," replied Bludgeon with just a hint of sarcasm, "I did not take that into account." Lockdown turned his gaze to Barricade and his optics sparkled happily.

"Oh, goody, you're awake," he said, "now we can get to the interesting part. I should warn you, though…you _won't _enjoy this." Bludgeon approached and lifted up Barricade's head with one hand.

"Why were you on Earth?" he demanded roughly. Barricade weighed his options. He could keep quiet…or he could possibly retain his kneecaps.

"Awaiting orders," he replied cautiously.

"Orders? From whom?"

"The…the great Megatron."

Lockdown clapped his hands together like an excited hatchling about to receive an Energon goodie and exclaimed, "Ah, Megatron's still alive then! Splendid! Where is the old war-monger these days?"

Barricade hesitated. Bludgeon drew his sword and held the crackling serrated blade to the captive Decepticon's neck.

"Lord Lockdown asked you a question," he growled.

"Easy now, tiger," said Lockdown, putting a hand on his subordinate's shoulder. He turned to Barricade and said, "You know, it would be in your best interest to answer my questions. Bludgeon here is well trained in Crystalocution, among other things. He could cause you intense pain without killing you. The last fool he practised on lasted a deca-cycle before we finally granted him the sweet embrace of death."

Barricade released a shuddering rattle from his vents. Lockdown shrugged, retaining his cool demeanour, and leaned towards his prisoner, placing one hand against the wall beside his head. Barricade looked up into the burning eyes. His tempo-sensors detected the cold breath emanating from the general's mouth. This was somebody who was born to kill, enjoyed it, lived it, and would probably die with the spilt oil of thousands of enemies painting his chassis.

"Come now, boy," he said in a sickly sweet, soothing tone, "we both know you're not an idiot. I remember when you were part of that two-bit street gang, racing around Polyhex and waiting for the next thrill. When war came, you took Megatron's offer so you wouldn't join your so-called 'brothers,' in a lonesome prison camp. You chose wisely, for your own survival. Now I'm asking, nay, _beseeching_ you to do so again. Maintain your loyalty to Megatron and suffer all manner of horrors…or join the winning side."

Barricade looked thoughtful.

XXX

Starscream was miserable. He watched in futility as the life-force faded from yet another of the unborn hatchlings. The pod darkened and started to dry out. Forcing back desperate tears, he pounded the wall with his fists. Why?! Why, slag it?! All for the sake of this wretched war! Even in the case of their side winning, the chances of which were ridiculously slim now, there would be no future generations to enjoy their victory! His audio sensors picked up the sound of something entering the nest's docking bay and he rushed to meet it. He recognised the vessel as a Decepticon war-ship, which was surprising enough, but this one was in tip-top condition, not even a debris scratch on the paintwork. He made his way up the gangplank, wondering who in the galaxy it could be, when the door slid open and out stumbled a somewhat disoriented Barricade. Starscream caught the smaller Decepticon by the shoulders.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed. "Did you find that…?" His voice trailed off as two horrifying figures materialised behind the police robot. Forgetting Barricade, Starscream took to his heels and raced back to the room, screaming for Megatron, who despite his immobility, had learned to monitor his companion like clockwork. He had been wondering why the hourly bothering had not yet commenced, and his optics actually rotated upwards as the winged warrior burst into the room.

Starscream shook the High Lord vigorously by the shoulders. He was blabbering, "Come on, _Lord_ Megatron! If there was ever an opportune time for you to rise up and join me in the Land of the Functional, _now would be it_!" He momentarily considered slapping some sense into the ancient 'con, but the reaction it might provoke stayed his hand. Nothing. Starscream choked on frustration as General Lockdown entered the chamber with Bludgeon and Barricade in tow.

"Love what you've done with this place," said he. "It's _trés gothique_." With a grinding of gears that had been inactive for so long, Megatron looked up briefly before returning to his former hunched position. Lockdown stared, his optics dimming then relighting in the robotic equivalent of a long blink. "I know you were never a very gracious host, old boy, but the least you could do is say 'hello'."

"Megatron was badly injured in a great battle with Optimus Prime a few years ago," said Starscream, wringing his claws. "I think some damage to his central processor remains." Lockdown shot him an impertinent glare.

"Only _some_?" he sneered, giving Megatron's head a shove. The High Lord's hand grabbed the general's wrist and squeezed it hard before his grip faltered and his arm flopped back down at his side. Lockdown smiled grimly.

"Damaged, my servos," he huffed. "He's just sulking." The revelation hit Starscream like a lightning bolt and a high-pitched whine escaped his vocaliser as he strived to keep a lid on his rage.

"Has anyone ever told you how downright annoying your voice is?" Lockdown winced. "Bludgeon, if you'd please…" The crimson lieutenant drew his sword again and raised it as if to cleave Starscream in two. The next thing the flyer felt was the heavy 'thump,' of the weapon's butt on his head casing. His vocaliser cut out and his optics flickered like bad reception on a television set. Lockdown nodded his approval and returned his attention to Megatron.

"I hate to see a grown mech in such a sorry state," he sighed, "even someone who smooches the skid-plates of a washout like the Fallen. So what if I told you…we could remake Cybertron, our true home, in our image?" This struck a chord. Megatron's face split into a grin, which faded when he noticed the strange gauntlet his former underling was wearing. He opened his mandibles and for the first time in a long while, spoke.

"What happened to your old arm? I've never known you to use your trophies before."

"Times change, as you should know," replied Lockdown, stroking the gauntlet with his free hand like one would a well-loved pet. "And this is no mere trophy…" His voice changed as he went on, the melodramatic enthusiasm clearly increasing. "No, no, no, no, no…this here is the ultimate, the grandest, the most _powerful_ weapon in all the stars! It has existed longer than we have, and will exist long after we have passed on. Whole planets have been razed by its might. It is a weapon…fit…for a God!" There was a pause as, to Lockdown's mind, they basked in his glory. In truth, Megatron was pondering how a fearsome gladiator could become such a flamboyant show-boater.

"Then how did _you_ come by it?" sniped Megatron. Lockdown narrowed his optics at him.

"My offer is still on the table, take it or leave it," he replied in a clipped manner. "Either way, I'm sure I can convince your troops to join me. After all, I can offer them the glory that real marauders deserve." Megatron rubbed his chin and contemplated how he could work this to his own advantage. Finally, he stood up, his joints groaning with the sudden movement.

When he and Lockdown were at eye-level, he asked, "What do I need to do?"

XXX

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Cast and vehicles introduced in this chapter;

Tim Curry..............LOCKDOWN (B2 Spirit)

Robert Axelrod.........BLUDGEON (Enzo Ferrari)


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: "Retrieval"**

The Autobot vessel had space bridge-jumped its way into Cybertron aerospace after five consecutive boosts from Optimus Prime, but the exertion of a power he was not yet used to had left him severely drained and, for now, unable to participate in their mission. During the week they spent preparing on Earth, a small, otherwise unused section of the ship had been converted into sleeping quarters for the human passengers, though Lennox was content to sit up and caress the photo of Sarah and Annabelle he took with him everywhere. What a fool he was to walk out on them, he could not and would not blame them if they left him. He probably deserved it. Working with N.E.S.T. had gradually sucked away the time he could spare for them. He managed to make it for Annabelle's school play when she was six, but about halfway through he received a call regarding a sighting in Paris. Sarah had never forgiven him for that, which was bad enough because he knew it was a horrible thing to do, but when Annabelle said, "It's okay, Daddy," it had broken his heart. She was so pure, so kind, how did a muscle-head like him wind up with such a wonderful little girl? Lennox put one hand over his eyes and bit back tears. _Sorry I let you down, girls,_ he thought, _I'll make it up to you both, one day._

On the ship's command bridge, Kup sat with Simmons on his knee, reminiscing about his adventures across the sea of the stars. The agent had a notebook and pen and was taking notes like a diligent student.

"There was one time," the old soldier said for perhaps the 20TH time in a row, "I was leadin' a squad of explorers to the planet Soros 4, but the natives weren't too happy to meet us…" Simmons jotted this in his notebook. All his life he had dreamt of meeting aliens, now he was finally getting what he wanted, stories of fantastic worlds and magnificent creatures from someone who had seen it all! He bet Wells, Verne and Roddenberry would have given their two front teeth to meet his new friend. Kup was pleased too. He found someone who not only wanted to hear his stories, but was capable of asking the right questions. _Maybe these humans aren't all bad, _he thought. At this point, the twins Sideswipe and Sunstreaker entered the room in the midst of a conversation.

"All I'm saying, bro," said the yellow-bodied artist, "is that if you were going to paint yourself, at least do a respectable job! You're all patchy, like you've got space-pox or something." He squinted his optics, "Is that silver or white underneath? Either way, I'd be happy to fix it up once we get to Cybertron." Sideswipe put his arm out to stop his sibling and put a finger to his lips before gesturing towards the console where Hot Rod was manning the controls. Sideswipe winked and opened up a compartment in his stomach, from which he retrieved a large paper bag. He inflated it with air from his vents and crept towards the pilot, lifting the bag and preparing to pop it. At the last second, Hot Rod turned in his seat and grabbed the slightly older Autobot's wrists.

"Get some new material," he said smugly. Sideswipe snorted indignantly and stalked off. Sunstreaker stifled a chuckle and shrugged innocently when he caught Hot Rod's cock-browed glance.

In the small recreational room somewhere in the middle of the ship, Tracks and Jolt waited intently as Wheeljack tuned in to the activity on the bridge.

The powder blue glow faded from the inventor's ears and he said, "Sorry, 'bots, he didn't fall for it." Tracks grumbled and slid a few Transformer-sized poker chips over to Jolt.

"I was positive it was a sure thing," he sighed.

"There are no sure things," replied Jolt in imitation of his mentor. He raised the hand of pentagon-shaped playing cards he was holding to eye-level and said, "Okay, hit me."

"Ace of Ursa," said Wheeljack, putting a card down on the table between the three of them.

"I'll see your Ursa," said Jolt, putting down a card of his own, "and raise you a Quasar of Sirius."

"Slag it!" Wheeljack cursed, throwing his cards to the floor, "that's Fullstasis!"

"Slag it! That's Fullstasis!" Corona exclaimed as she and her sisters were engaged in a game of their own in the med-bay. The youngest of the three femmes was recovering well from her wounds, but as a final preparation, a tube connected her arm to a boxy machine on a tall stand. The tube was pumping black-and-pink liquid from inside a translucent bag on the side of the box.

"You lose again, kiddo," said Chromia with a self-gratifying smile on her face-plate.

"But I'm injured!" Corona whined. "Just let me _win_ once in a while, why don'tcha?"

"Nice try, but I'm impervious to guilt trips," the blue sister waved her off. "Learn to pay attention next time."

Arcee set her own hand down and turned to look over at Ratchet. The medic was running yet another check-up on his equipment.

"Ratchet," she called, "can you unhook her yet? We've played 200 games already."

"Is that Energon drip empty yet?" Ratchet replied without looking up. Arcee hesitated. She knew better than to lie to the old doctor. He was sharper than any surgical instrument.

"…No."

"Well there's your answer," Ratchet turned to one of the operating tables where Optimus Prime lay in sound recharge.

Prowl's quarters were located right above the bridge. It was an arrangement that suited him. He had no commodities to speak of, so a small room with just the essentials was all he needed; a sleeping station and a few shelves to house his personal effects. Presently, the ship's captain and Ironhide were browsing a data-pad that once belonged to Prime's late second-in-command Jazz in hopes that they could find any information on weapons or artefacts of unknown origin that they could cross-reference with Vector Sigma. Unfortunately, the files were sorted in a way that only their creator could make sense of.

"Here's an idea," said Ironhide, "why don't we get Simmons to ask Kup about this? He's probably old enough."

"He's not _that_ old," Prowl rolled his optics before returning to his usual dour demeanour, "though I wish Optimus were online. He has that Decepticon's powers, so perhaps he also has his memories. That would be much helpful then…ugh! I don't even know _what_ to call this! Why did Jazz have to store so much useless trivia on this thing?!" He pressed a button on the pad and a rough voice started to spit lyrics at about a hundred miles a minute.

"The humans call it 'rap,' and yes, it is useless," replied Ironhide. He sighed, "You know, for all it's problems, I was growing very attached to that planet. I hope they'll be all right without us."

XXX

Many, many light-years away on the planet Earth, the Pentagon was abuzz with activity. John Keller stood in the primary console room as an operator reported to him.

"Sir," said the operator, "we've detected a vessel in Earth's orbit."

"Is it Cybertronian?" asked Keller with a hint of hopefulness.

"No, sir," the operator sounded nervous. "It's not answering any hailing frequencies and the design is like nothing we've ever seen before."

"Bring it up on-screen," Keller commanded. The huge multi-faced monitor taking up one wall of the room beeped as it fed a satellite image straight to the complex. The picture displayed perhaps the weirdest thing anybody in the room had ever seen. For a moment, the great, corkscrew-shaped monstrosity stunned the humans into silence, then a frenzy of talk as documents and relays circulated in every possible direction. Everyone had to know that Earth was going to make contact with yet another extra-terrestrial race. Keller gulped. A great feeling of foreboding spread through his entire being. He would have to be brave for his men, but ultimately he was just as discomforted as they were.

"Shit," he whispered.

XXX

Inside the strange ship, two entities spoke.

"Mechanoid life-forms no longer detected on the planet," said one, "local inhabitants will pose minimal risk."

"Excellent," said the other, "begin extermination and colonisation. I shall inform the Imperial Magistrate."

XXX

The planet Cybertron, once the centre of a grand interstellar empire, was now a burnt out husk. The ground was coated in ash and riddled with cancerous cracks and craters. Where once there were seas of crystal, there were now but empty deserts. Rivers of boiling lava ran through cities that were reduced to mountains of debris. Piles of lifeless robot shells were strewn about the landscape like tributes to misery. The _Endeavour_ glided above the surface, seeking a suitable landing spot. A few of the Autobots stared out the windows at what was once a thriving world. The ship touched down and the door slid open, allowing the crew to disembark. The utter silence was unnerving. Raoul, perched on Tracks' shoulder, scratched the side of his head thoughtfully.

"You know, man," he said, "I'd expect a planet of machines to look…well…different."

"It _was_ different," Tracks breathed longingly. "I wish I could show you the great golden towers of Iacon, they were the very embodiment of splendour."

Epps scanned the area and whistled.

"For such an advanced race," he said, "their planet is kind of a dump." Lennox gestured for his teammate to shut up, because Tracks, Wheeljack and Hot Rod were glowering at the black man with a look that could freeze mercury. The inventor shrugged off his anger and started walking away from the group.

"I used to live around here," he said, "maybe my lab's still okay. It'd be great if I could salvage anything…ooh! Maybe I can find my shock-blast cannon!" With that, he transformed into his blocky vehicular shape and tore off with tyres squealing.

"Wheeljack, wait!" Sunstreaker protested too late.

"Someone had better go after him," Kup huffed. Sunstreaker also transformed and entered pursuit with Sideswipe and Hot Rod close behind. When Kup did a mental tally of who had left he put his palm to his face.

"Now _I _need to go after _them_," he groaned. He shifted into his lorry cab form. Simmons and Lennox popped open the doors and hopped in.

"I've never seen an alien laboratory before," Simmons was practically radiating with glee.

"If you haven't, I _certainly_ haven't," said Lennox. He quickly looked back over his shoulder at his fellow soldier.

"Epps, you go with Ironhide and find that gizmo." He pulled his door shut and Kup drove away, though the younger 'bots were already vanishing into the distance.

"Why _did_ you decide to come along, anyway?" Simmons asked.

"Speaking as a soldier, covering more ground's a good thing," replied Lennox, "but also speaking as someone who watched every episode of _Scooby Doo_ as a kid, splitting up is _never_ a good thing. So I figured if your pen-pushin' butt winds up in the fire, I can make sure it doesn't get burnt." He waved the gun he was holding to emphasis the last part. Simmons tutted and looked at the landscape passing by the cab window.

Back at the landing site, Sam was looking off into the distance. At first he thought he was imagining things, but now he was certain of it. One of the Six Ancient Primes was hovering there, slowly floating backwards and beckoning him forward with its huge, skeletal hands.

"Bee?" Sam asked his faithful guardian while pointing in the direction of the phantasm. "What's over that way?" Bumblebee shook his head while his radio gargled out its usual jumble of patchwork noise. On a second glance, Sam realised that while the Primes in his dreams had all been identically coloured and built, this one had sections of dark orange armour and the tattered remains of what may have once been segmented wings. _Why didn't I notice that before?_ Sam thought.

_Boy,_ said a telepathic voice, the voice of the Prime. It dripped with intelligence that far outweighed that of the crude Sentinel Prime. A silent, organic databank sprang to life in his head and the ancient leader's name seemed to burn on his cortex. Nova Prime, Third of Seven. _The Allspark in your mind allowed you to see us through the eyes of Vector Sigma, and in that way we are all the same. None is greater, none is less. Now please, hurry, there is no time to lose!_

Sam nodded and started off towards the ghostly robot.

"Sam, wait up!" Mikaela followed him and put her hands on his shoulders to stop him. "We have no idea what's on this planet, we should wait for the others." Sam shifted his feet uncomfortably. The Prime's voice was still ushering him and it felt like his skin was about to rip forward. The sensation of hooks again. Every muscle like a tight bundle of wires.

"I will go with Bumblebee and the children," said Ironhide, rhythmically opening and closing his arm-mounted cannons in anticipation. The three sisters rolled out in front of where Prowl and Ratchet stood side-by-side at the foot of the ship's gangplank.

"We'll tag along with Ironhide," said Arcee. She turned to her youngest sibling, "Corona, you've only been off the support unit for a few cycles, so stay close to me." Corona muttered something in Cybertronian.

"I heard that," said Arcee. Jolt began to walk towards the expedition group when Ratchet stopped him with a hand on the shoulder.

"Jolt, I need you to stay here and help keep an eye on Prime," said the old medic.

His apprentice countered thusly, "But, sir, you've seen the damage my electro-whips can do, they'll provide an advantage if their blasters run out of ammo, and besides, if any of them get hurt they'll need a medic around." Ratchet was about to refuse but Jolt quickly added, "Sir, with all due respect, you've done a fantastic job of raising me, but I'm not a hatchling anymore. I _have_ to go." Ratchet sighed through his vents and gestured with his hand for the younger 'bot to go. As Jolt joined Bumblebee and the sisters, Ironhide clapped a hand on the doctor's shoulder.

"Don't get your nodes in a twist, Doc," said the gunman. "I'll look after the boy." He turned to the gathered group and chanted the commander's mantra, "Autobots, transform and roll out." As the last word left his vocaliser, he, Bumblebee, Jolt and the sisters shifted to their respective vehicle modes. Sam and Mikaela climbed into the yellow Camaro.

"Let's get scroungin'," said Epps, taking a seat in the cab of the black Topkick. The group started off.

Prowl caught sight of Tracks about to follow and said, "Not you, Tracks. You stay here and guard the _Endeavour_. Cybertron's not as safe as we remember it so we'll need every available hand in case of a hostile attack."

"Suits me fine," replied Tracks, "I don't want to bend any of my perfectly manicured fenders anyway."

"Guess I'll hang back too," Raoul remarked. "Give Mikky and her man-candy a little private time, know what I mean?" As Ironhide's team left their immediate line of sight, Prowl and Ratchet went back inside the ship while Tracks and Raoul remained on sentry duty. The two Autobots entered the med-bay and observed the still sleeping body of their ruler.

"How long do you think it will take him to come back online?" asked the captain.

"I wish I could tell you, Prowl," replied Ratchet in a melancholy way, "but space bridging is Decepticon technology. Frankly I'm surprised it didn't blow him to smithereens. Teleporting the ship and everyone on it took a heavy toll on his body."

"Worst case scenario?"

"He may _never_ wake up."

"By Primus…"

XXX

When Kup finally caught up with the youngsters, Wheeljack had already cracked the lock on the door of a run-down building. He and Sunstreaker had led the way in, the lights on their respective head case adornments acting as torches to guide their way. The old robot popped open his doors and let his passengers out before transforming to his humanoid state.

"I'm gettin' too old for this," he wheezed.

"The stairs are a doozey!" Wheeljack called from inside the building. Sideswipe picked up the two humans and set them down on his shoulders.

"Enjoy the ride, guys," he told them, "hope you don't mind dark places."

"You haven't seen 'dark,' until you use the cellar of kosher butcher shop as a base of operations," said Simmons. Lennox looked at him oddly but thought it better not to delve deeper.

"I'll stay up here and watch the door," said Kup, standing just inside the building. The others nodded and descended a stone stairway into a dark laboratory. The torches cast powder blue and lemon yellow spotlights on the floor and walls, revealing shelves occupied by all manner of bizarre and illogical-looking devices. It was a mad scientist's wet dream. Simmons had taken a digital camera out of his jacket and was snapping photographs faster than an overzealous tourist.

Wheeljack's wraparound face-plate curled upwards at the front corners. He pinched Simmon's jacket collar between finger and thumb and put him on top of his head while saying in a cheery way, "_My_ human!" Lennox just blinked. What were they, pets now? If they were, he was a pet with a damn big gun. Wheeljack proceeded to happily bounce from one object to the next, explaining them rapidly to the agent, occasionally grabbing one and sliding it inside a cavity in his stomach.

"Uh, Sideswipe, how is he fitting all that inside?" asked Lennox.

"Sub-space pocket," replied the red-armoured Autobot, "it's a lost art."

"Here's hoping none of that explodes inside him," Sunstreaker whispered to his brother.

"Shocky!" Wheeljack's squeal split the air in twain as he twirled round to face his friends. Clutched in his hands was a long, cylindrical object with a number of rudimentary protrusions along its length. It brought to mind a deformed bazooka. Cybertronian characterswere laser-inscribed on one section, along with a crude illustration of what seemed to be its creator's head blowing a raspberry at whoever happened to be looking at it.

"Okay, you got your toy," said Hot Rod, "can we get out of here now? The humid air's playing murder with my intake valves."

"Yeah, yeah, sure, sure, sure," Wheeljack said quickly, shoving the shock-blast cannon into his sub-space cavity before starting just one more teensy look around. Hot Rod and the twins quickly ascended the stairs. Kup relaxed a little, though he wished he did not a moment later. Sunstreaker, who had come out several feet ahead, was caught in an ambush as a black-and-white Transformer leapt out of a hiding place and grabbed him firmly, locking his arm behind his back with one hand and wrapping a free arm around his neck. Sunstreaker squirmed but Barricade held tight.

"Let go of my brother!" Sideswipe hissed, unsheathing his sleeve-swords as Kup willed a panel to open in his left forearm and a double-barrelled blaster extended from within.

"Don't even bother threatening me, Autobot," Barricade sneered. "I know you won't fire on your friend, not while I'm holding him hostage." There was no pause. No negotiation. No moment for consideration or speeches.

"He ain't my friend," said Kup. Two incendiary bolts fired from his blaster. Sunstreaker threw all his weight to one side, momentarily dragging Barricade's arm across and allowing both projectiles to explode against him. While he was disoriented, Sunstreaker tore himself free.

"And I ain't your hostage!" he snarled, kicking his assailant in the chest and knocking him onto his skid-plates. Sideswipe and Hot Rod moved in to partake of the oh-so-delicious brutality, only for another Decepticon to step straight into their path.

"Let's dance," Strika smirked. Kup cursed and ducked back into the building to warn Wheeljack and the humans still inside. While Sunstreaker and Barricade traded blows, each unable to gain a considerable advantage, Hot Rod opened his index and middle fingertips and flicked his thumbs like triggers, launching small, rapid bolts. Strika attempted to avoid but one struck her on the shoulder and threw her off-balance. She fell onto her back and as Hot Rod closed in for the kill, she planted her hands on the ground and swung out in a roundhouse kick, knocking her opponent's legs out from under him. She lunged but Sideswipe dived in with both sleeve-swords, forcing the heavy fem-bot to roll backwards lest she suffer a _very_ close-cut shave.

Barricade pulled back and launched a devastating right hook towards Sunstreaker. The yellow-plated warrior caught the punch and his opponent watched in confusion as a shockwave seemed to travel along his arm and across his shoulders. The wave reached his other arm, which began to spasm and vibrate.

"What goes around comes around," said Sunstreaker ominously, pressing the shaking hand to the perplexed Decepticon's chest. There was a flash of yellow light as the wave burst outwards in a pulse of power and Barricade was thrown across the burnt out landscape. Waving his arms and struggling to remain standing, he skidded to a halt after leaving two long ditches in the ground from the dragging of his feet.

Trying to fight off the violent shuddering in his systems, Barricade snorted angrily. "What the Pit was that?!" Sunstreaker merely smirked. Facing an unknown factor and unable to generate a suitable strategy, Barricade transformed into his car state and drove off. On cue, Lennox emerged from the building and squeezed the trigger on his gun. A flurry of bullets rendered the Saleen's tires to strips of useless rubber and it skidded into a nearby junk pile, the impact knocking its bonnet open. While Barricade lay in a stupefied daze, the valiant Lennox hopped onto his roof and let rip his righteous human fury on the exposed motor. Barricade roared in pain and returned to robot mode, catapulting Lennox into the air where Sunstreaker caught him like a cricket ball. Barricade took several staggering footsteps away before collapsing with a heavy 'thump,' kicking up a cloud of ash that obscured his face. By the time it settled, the light was gone from his optics, his Spark extinguished. The yellow Autobot suddenly felt something cold and round press against the back of his head casing.

"I commend you both for your brutality," Strika mused, "but alas, I do have my orders."

"Hey! Prune-face!" someone shouted. "Get your slimy mitts away from my bro!" One of Sideswipe's blades swung down and sliced the barrel of the gun in half. Strika snarled and retracted the remains back into her arm. Sunstreaker looked over his shoulder at his brother then slightly tightened his grip on Lennox so as not to drop him. Both brothers nodded to another before spinning out in a united high kick that propelled Strika back towards Hot Rod, already set to fire from his finger-guns. With a scream of outrage she crashed to the ground. The Decepticon grunted and coughed up oil. Wheeljack, who seemed to have materialised from nowhere, stood in front of the decrepit building with his shock-blast cannon primed on their enemy as Kup and Simmons stood apprehensively behind him.

"Let 'er have it," the agent goaded.

"Say hello to my little friend," the inventor giggled malevolently. He pulled the trigger and the entire area was engulfed in a blinding yellow-white aurora. Wheeljack was thrown backwards off his feet and landed in a crumpled pile just inside the doorway and the force-waves almost tossed the other Autobots off their feet. Strika, who had seen the attack coming, had managed to roll out of the line of fire just in time and when the light faded, most of the battlefield between them had been reduced to a smoking crater. The Decepticon femme made an astonished grunt. If her enemies had firepower of that magnitude, sticking around equalled automatic doom. Game over! Deciding it better to run and fight another day, she transformed and rolled away. Hot Rod lifted his finger-guns again but Kup put his hand on his young charge's wrist.

"No lad," said the old warhorse, "that's _not_ how we do things."

"But you told Ironhide-"

"_That_ was a joke," he turned to the recovering Wheeljack. "You realise when Ironhide finds out you've got that thing, _he's_ gonna want one, right?"

Sunstreaker held out the hand Lennox was sitting on to Sideswipe and said, "I like this one. He's like a little fleshy engine of death."

"Next you'll wanna give him a collar, bro," replied Sideswipe, cocking both his eyebrow-plates. Lennox, however, was more entranced by the crater left by the cannon, which Simmons was presently inspecting.

"Shit…" the soldier gawked. "…Is that thing even _legal_?!"

"I can see why you guys were hesitant to share your weapons tech with us," Simmons scratched the side of his head, quite overwhelmed himself but hiding it behind a finely tuned face of professionalism.

"Wonder if the others are having this much fun," Hot Rod murmured sarcastically.

XXX

West Iacon Central Park was something of a misnomer. It had never, in any sense, been a public park, but merely a flat section of land hidden between several factories. The perfectly square area was a favoured haunt of the workers looking for a place to enjoy their break among the company of fellow working-class 'bots without the interference of the higher-ups. Now the factories were just ruins and the park, as well as the surrounding landscape, was blanketed in the rotted, rust-infested corpses of long dead robots. Any faces left even slightly intact were twisted in expressions of fear and hopelessness. Silent, eternal screams, wandering Sparks clawing for salvation that they dreaded would never come. The expedition group stood at the top of a hill, looking out over the panorama of desolation.

"What a tragic waste of life," Jolt choked, struggling not to cry. Corona murmured his name in a sympathetic fashion and put her hand on his shoulder. Jolt glanced back at her and forced a grateful smile. Arcee rolled forward and lifted the limp hand of one of the corpses.

"Who were they?" she asked. "I thought everyone was evacuated."

"These are the poor Sparks who didn't make it," Ironhide answered sadly. Mikaela wanted to feel sorry, wanted to pity the unfortunate dead and comfort her mechanical companions, but the sad truth was that to her, and indeed to Sam and Epps, was that in their eyes, this was just a giant scrap yard, only a field of dead metal. They could never feel the great swallowing despair. To Sam's horror, the spirit of Nova Prime was wading through the hills of deactivated cadavers like a man through water, only to stop directly in the middle.

"He expects us to look in _there_?"

Arcee gazed through the yellow Camaro's window at the human guide.

"Who, Sam?" she asked.

"The Prime," he told her simply.

"Somethin' tells me this kid is a few cows short of a herd," Chromia whispered in her sister's ear. Epps climbed out of the Topkick and addressed the two young lovers.

"I think it's best if _we_ went to find whatever-it-is," said he, "these guys can stay here." Like Mikaela, he did not feel any especially crushing sorrow, but he did understand that to the Autobots, this was a graveyard, nay, it was a humungous slaughterhouse, slick with oil, guts and gore. The kids got out of the Camaro and he led them down the steep hillside, occasionally having to dig his heavy boots into the dirt to keep himself from slipping. Sam led them to the specific spot where he could see the spirit and then all three humans started digging.

"What exactly are we lookin' for?" asked Epps.

"I have no idea," replied Sam, "but we'll know when we find it."

"How?"

"It'll probably be glowing. And when you pick it up you'll hear a fanfare."

Epps shook his head in wonderment that the kid could be making jokes at a time like this, though he did appreciate it. He did not do well when stressed or depressed. His sweet ol' mama always told him to try and see the bright side of any situation, and thankfully he never forgot that, although Old Mother Epps did go a little batty in her old age and had difficulty understanding that there were occasions that called for seriousness. He dodged a tumbling pipe from somewhere up above.

"Sorry!" Mikaela called down from the top of the pile. What she did not notice was the long, vicious-looking, clawed appendage arcing up behind her.

"GET DOWN!" Epps shouted. To her credit, the girl did as she was told before looking up and gawping at her would-be attacker. The arm – well, he guessed it was an arm – had to be at least 15 feet long, not including the three razor-sharp digits on the end. Mikaela landed on Sam and both of them smacked into the ground, jostling the girl's rucksack. The zip slid open and a small, bug-eyed head stuck itself out.

"Yo! What the hell's with the wake-up call?!" Wheelie squeaked angrily. "I'm tryin' to recha…" His voice trailed off when he saw the writhing arm. "…Oh…oh, whoa…I, uh…um…WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!" He disappeared back into the bag. The hill of bodies exploded as the owner of the arm came into full view. It was an immense, serpentine thing, at a guess around 40 feet long, with four whipping, uneven arms and a saurian head with tusks and a multitude of blue and red eyes dotted randomly across its brow. Three horns curved out of its forehead. Its chest was an open cavity with perfectly round ribs guarding a malformed Spark, flecked with green, orange and bloody lines, from which warts and tendrils of electricity bubbled up and then deflated. Surrounding the Spark was a silver ring engraved with ancient characters. The body of the monster was a horrific hodgepodge of heads, limbs and inner workings, so too was its unstable core. It was an entity that symbolised and felt only rage and agony.

"Motherf…!" Epps exclaimed. "I knew it wasn't gonna be easy!" He readied his machine gun. "Bring it!"

"Autobots, transform and attack!" Ironhide commanded. "Take it down!" Those still in vehicle mode transformed and the team raced down the hillside and into the battle. The monster planted its hands on the ground and swung its tail, sweeping Jolt and the girls to one side.

"The ring in its chest!" Epps shouted, firing round after round. "That's gotta be what we're lookin' for!"

"Bumblebee, get the children to safety!" cried Ironhide. "Jolt, help me restrain it!" Bumblebee scooped up Sam and Mikaela and transformed around them, gunning his engine and speeding back up the hill despite their protests. The sisters righted themselves.

"Catapult formation!" ordered Arcee. Chromia and Corona took hold of their leader's waist and began spinning round in circles, building up speed and friction until releasing the magenta fem-bot, launching her into the air.

"Hey, Chop-shop," Arcee sneered, grabbing the beast's middle horn with one hand and assaulting its head with her blaster. The monster bellowed and swung its neck around, spraying loose chunks of metal in every direction as it tried to rid itself of the horrible pest. The other two sisters returned to motorcycle mode and circled their quarry, keeping it off-balance.

"Bee, I've got an idea," said Sam when they reached the hilltop. When he explained it, Mikaela was not sure if he was being stupid or…well…awesome, really. Bumblebee turned and his engine powered up. Ironhide grabbed hold of one of the monster's upper arms while Jolt snapped his electro-whips around two more. Bumblebee blew a heavy metal guitar riff from his radio and rocketed down the hill. Chromia and Corona realised what was happening and propped up a large, flat sheet of metal. The crude ramp just barely held the Camaro's weight as it lifted into the air, crashing through the exposed ribs and splattering the mutant Spark like a blob of paint. Bumblebee skidded to a halt on the ground behind the monster, clutching the silver ring in his bonnet like a dog with a bone. The beast froze and its eyes dimmed to black.

"Move it!" Ironhide ordered as the Autobots scattered. Arcee leapt off her perch on its head and landed in Jolt's outstretched arms. The monster's misshapen form crumbled like a sand castle, parts of it bouncing up into the air and pitting the already scarred earth beneath it. The sound of crashing metal faded into an echo, and then there was nothing, save for the haunting whistle of the wind. Sam emerged from his car and took the ring, which shrunk to fit his finger upon touching it. The phantom of Nova Prime saluted in approval before sinking behind the veil of the atmosphere. Sam exhaled, able to relax for the moment.

"Yeah!" Epps punched the air excitedly. "Yeah, we bad! We bad!"

"We…bad," Ironhide agreed.

XXX

The Decepticon vessel had made planet-fall on a small island surrounded by a moat of lava. When Strika returned, Lockdown and Bludgeon were waiting outside for her. She reported that there were indeed Autobots on the planet, and the revelation of Barricade's demise did not even bring a slip of emotion to her tone. Lockdown stroked his chin thoughtfully, then turned to his lieutenant.

"Alert Jetstorm," he said.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: "The Swamp of Agony"**

Trying to re-ascend the hill to get out of the body-pit was futile. Under the combined weight of the Autobots, its already weakened infrastructure had collapsed like a house of cards, and now the expedition group were being forced to find an alternative route back to the ship, which unfortunately meant taking the long way round, through the terrible hell-hole. In Bumblebee's front seat, Mikaela was inspecting their newly acquired ring thoughtfully. Wheelie was standing on her lap and scanning it, though the language was ancient, older than the Autobots and Decepticons themselves, the language of the Primes. In the adjacent seat, Sam was slipping into a doze, finding himself once more in the chamber of Vector Sigma. The students and avatars, even the great golden thing itself were absent, but what he did see were two towering Primes. Once again, they were identical in appearance. Sam had no idea if one of them was Nova, but he took the risk anyway.

"You!" he yelled. "I don't care which one of you it is, but what were you thinking when you hid these items?! I nearly got squashed by a reject from a Wachowski Brothers movie!"

"That would be him," the two Primes said in unison, one was distinctly female, and pointed to somewhere behind Sam. Standing in the corner was a third Prime, who looked as if he were trying to hide himself in the shadows.

Sam put his palm to his face. _Ladies and gentlemen, _he thought, _the founders of a 'once mighty empire.'_

"We cannot apologise for our decisions, Herald," said the female Prime.

"Whoa-whoa-whoa!" Sam waved his hands in front of him. "What did you just call me?"

"You are our Herald," said the other Prime, whose voice was thick and slow, "the Herald of Rebirth."

"I appreciate the, uh…title and all," said Sam, "but how about you just call me 'Sam'? I'm an American guy with average intelligence, an emasculating girlfriend and more robot friends than human. I'm _not_ King Arthur."

The two Primes looked down at Sam as if he had just fallen out of a tree, then glanced across to each other and shrugged. The male Prime cleared his throat and spoke.

"As my sister has stated," he said, "we cannot apologise, the items were forged and sent out into the world before it fell into its current state, but I can assure that the next two will be far more…straightforward." The world became a vision of outer space. Sam was alone, surrounded by beautiful purple-and-green streaks of light, orange quasars and white stars. Blackness washed over that, and something small and warm appeared in his hands. A tiny figure, its features obscured by its alabaster glow, expanded to match him in size, and then came those jaws again, clamping shut around him. Sam screamed as he was thrust back into the waking world, banging his head on the ceiling of the Camaro. Mikaela and Wheelie both jumped at his sudden movement. A cacophony of splitting records briefly burst from the radio. Bumblebee had also been shocked at the yelp and the impact on his interior.

"S-sorry guys," Sam said sheepishly, rubbing the top of his head.

"Another dream?" asked Mikaela.

"Mm-hmm," Sam nodded. "I think we'll find the other items soon." Mikaela looked at the ring again as it shrunk to fit her own finger.

"Not really my colour," she sighed.

XXX

Soon, the Autobots regrouped at the _Endeavour_. Ratchet continued to look over the sleeping body of Optimus Prime. The recharge was going well, but he would need a few more mega-cycles. The drain caused by overusing the space bridge had sucked dry not only his primary fuel reserves, but also his back-ups, and his Energon-lines were almost empty. It was a long, drawn out, but at least so far easy recharge, so long as he was undisturbed.

"Jolt, grab me another drip bag," said the medic as the one hooked up to their leader emptied. His apprentice obliged.

"How's he doing, Sir?" asked Jolt.

"Better than I initially thought," Ratchet replied, "but we'll have to be patient. I don't want to check his processor until his body is sufficiently nourished. Good news is that his Spark is definitely still pulsating." He tapped a screen next to the bed that displayed a complex series of rotating rings. At the other end of the room, Wheeljack and Ironhide were deep in discussion.

"So this 'shock-blast cannon'," said the gunman, "I don't suppose you could, ah, hook me up, as it were?"

"Well I could sure as circuitry give it a go," replied the inventor. "I might have to detach your existing armaments to put in a condensed, efficiently powered model, but it's definitely doable."

"Hey!" Ratchet called over strictly. "Ironhide, I don't want you sticking any of that lunatic's mad machinations on you! I know what you're like with new toys!" Wheeljack's ears seemed to droop a little and Jolt put a hand to his mouth to block his urge to chuckle. Raoul walked on the table next to Optimus Prime's huge body.

"Wow," he breathed, "up close, you Autobots are so…so complex! I can't even begin to imagine how, but the big lug's fused a real truck's inner workings with his own systems. I know you guys were special but…just wow! It's a mechanic's dream!"

"Want me to show you some basic Cybertronian engineering, Raoul?" Jolt offered.

"Are you kidding?" Raoul exclaimed with glee. "I wanna learn everything!"

"Okay, then let's get started," Jolt smiled. "I don't think the Big Bot would appreciate us poking round in his systems, but we got plenty of other stuff that'll be just as good."

In the ship's security room, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Epps and Lennox were engaged in a rousing game of _Gears of War 3._ The twins were greatly enjoying their first real experience with a computer game. As a member of N.E.S.T., Sideswipe had never found the time for such conveniences until recently, and Sunstreaker had of course never even seen an X-Box, let alone played one. The two soldiers were somewhat less enthusiastic. Epps was troubled by the battle in the park.

"We're up to our necks in God-knows-what, sir," he said. "Robots are robots, but that thing in the junk…I mean, in the graveyard, it was somethin' else. Somethin' unholy. I was never one to believe in magic, but I'm havin' second thoughts."

Lennox did not even look up from the screen as he replied, "I know how you feel Epps – bang! Eat my rockets, Sunstreaker, yeah! – but seriously, we should've started expectin' things to get weird after Mission City."

"The twins're teamin' up on us, sir," said Epps.

"Hey! Quit screen hackin', ya dirty human…screen-hacker!" Sideswipe whined. The two soldiers grinned at one another.

"How about we show these toasters what real fighting is?"

"You lead, I follow, sir. Let's bring the pain."

Prowl stood at the door of the room, watching thoughtfully. He turned away and started walking towards the bridge, still struggling to draw information from Jazz's music-cluttered data-pad. He stopped when he caught sight of Sam and Mikaela racing down the corridor towards him. Prowl knelt down.

"What's so urgent?" he asked in his usual dry tone. "You seem to be expelling both heat and energy at a rather unnecessary rate for inside the ship."

"I…I…" Sam paused to catch his breath. "I know where the next two items are! We…we gotta tell everyone!"

"Very well," said Prowl, "I will form a search party. Come." He attached the data-pad to a hook on his waist and held out his hands for the two humans to climb on. Straightening up, he turned and walked into the security room.

XXX

Inside his ship, Lockdown cut off a communication channel with the one called Jetstorm.

"Oh, I feel all giddy," the former gladiator tittered, knitting his hands together and crossing one leg over the other. He swivelled in his chair to face his comrades. Bludgeon stood stoically as always, one hand resting on the butt of his sword and the other on his hip. Strika and Megatron were also there, and it was the ancient High Lord who spoke up.

"I don't trust him," he said, "Jetstorm was imprisoned off-world for being too uncontrollable, it was the one decision Prime ever made that I agreed with. What makes you think he'll follow you when he wouldn't even take orders from me?"

"Because, Meggy," said Lockdown, taking note of the grimace his new partner-in-crime made at the nickname, "not only am I the one who released Jetstorm from captivity, I performed surgery on his processor, inserting particular subliminal programmes to tame him."

"And when exactly did this happen?"

"The very same day I made General. Remember Polyhex? Any Autobot prisoners were sent there without trial, but the Chief Executioner was never named, as is tradition."

Megatron's optics paled with the realisation, "Then…the Executioner…was Jetstorm?!"

"That's right! That's right!" cried Lockdown, throwing his arms out happily. "And he did a wonderful job of maintaining Polyhex. The smelting pools were always, _always_ hot." Megatron snarled and walked away. He hated the way Lockdown talked to him like a fool. Well, not for much longer. Without him, that skull-headed cretin would be nothing! Nothing! When the time came, he would smite the insolent thug. He found Starscream crouched in a small, disused room at the far end of the vessel. The pods containing the last twenty-four hatchlings were attached to the wall and their caretaker was watching them intently.

"You obsess over these hatchlings, Starscream," said Megatron, "your own Energon levels are suffering as a result. Why throw your life away so recklessly for them?"

"I'm not like you, Megatron," Starscream hissed. "What's the point in ruling a planet, even a dead one, when there's nobody living on it? Your constant brooding over the years, like some Primus-damned tumour, didn't help the situation either!"

Megatron paused.

"Yes…perhaps you are right, Starscream," he said, running a hand over his metal crest. "I deserved that. Do what you can with what you have, for the glory of the Decepticon Empire."

"With such minimal numbers, it'll be long time before we can call ourselves an empire," Starscream gloomed, lightly brushing one of the pods with his finger. "We will need more."

"The Autobots…" said Megatron, "…they must have had nurseries of their own somewhere, to preserve their race if they lost the Great War. The problem is that even our best intelligence operatives failed to find them all, and maybe, just maybe, some of them may still bear fruit."

"But the question," said Starscream, who was only halfway paying attention as his mind was off in its own little world, "is where?"

XXX

Many horror stories circled the swamp. To the natives of Cybertron, it was called Felraq, but it also had another name, one that evoked the slime and terror that oozed from every steamy, humid bud and pore; the Swamp of Agony. A fleet of Autobot vehicles was parked at the bank, and stretched out before them was a thick river of bubbling, black-brown soil. The riverbed had long since dried out, but the metal trees remained, dripping pungent oil onto the cancerous earth. The trees had once been part of a complex above-ground resource transferral system, but like the rest of the world they were now dead and useless, dribbling the filth and muck left over from decomposition. Ratchet and Wheeljack were in the lead. They had been ideal choices after Sam revealed it to be where the Primes were leading them. After all, as they relayed, it was where they had grown up, and Ratchet had a firm feeling in his circuits of where they may have been going.

"Be careful," said Wheeljack. "The ground's unstable, especially now the river's no longer here to support our weight."

"So…the Swamp of Agony, huh?" said Sam. "This is really where you grew up, Ratchet?"

"Of course," snickered Sideswipe, "why do you think he's such a grouch?" The Hummer swung its door open and smacked the red Lamborghini in the side.

"Ow!"

"Shaddap. Now let's move."

The vehicles rolled in single file – Ratchet and Wheeljack, then Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, then Bumblebee with Sam and Mikaela inside, and finally Ironhide with Lennox bringing up the rear. They entered the cover of the trees, occasionally feeling drips of the gloopy oil staining their metal skins. As the canopy grew thicker, cloaking them in the thinly fractured ebon, the younger 'bots began to feel apprehensive.

"Are you sure we're going the right way?" asked Sunstreaker.

"Of course we are," replied Wheeljack, "I know this place like the back of my servos."

**SNAP! CRASH!**

Wheeljack yelped as the ground opened up beneath him and he was sucked down into a deep hole. Ashy sand poured down over him, burying him up to his wheel wells.

"Slag it!" Ironhide growled. "This place must be writhe with traps like that."

"Quit analysing and get me out of here!" Wheeljack screeched. Sunstreaker transformed to robot form and held out his arms. With a clunk of pistons, his hands fired out on chains and hooked under the car's open windows. Sideswipe also transformed and put his hands on his brother's shoulders and together they started to pull, slowly dragging the white-and-green Nissan Cube up out of his prison and back to the surface.

"When _was_ the last time you checked the backs of your servos, Wheeljack?" asked Sideswipe. Wheeljack snorted through his grill and drove ahead of the group.

"There was a time when traps would be the _least_ of your worries," he mumbled more to himself than the rest. The party continued on for another short while until coming to a stop at what appeared to be a solid grey building about the height of an average Autobot. Sam, Mikaela and Lennox emerged from the vehicles as they all shifted to their humanoid states. The building was surrounded on all sides by crumpled columns of metal, the remains of tree-trunks that had since been demolished.

"This place used to be a well-kept secret," Ratchet observed. "The cover must have been utterly razed."

"What makes you say that?" asked Sideswipe, perhaps a tad dumbly.

"What makes me say that," said Ratchet, "is that we _found_ this place. This was the laboratory run by Alpha Trion, one of our race's most respected scientists and philosophers before his disappearance, not to mention the one who raised both Wheeljack and myself."

"We were both offered work here on a project to create a combined super-weapon and deterrent," added Wheeljack. "Its core directive was to safeguard the future of the Autobots. It was called…Omega Supreme."

The sound of a hefty, grinding mechanism cut the atmosphere, following by a thunderous footstep that shook the ground, and finally a demonic roar like a rushing train in an echoing tunnel. Another footstep and the owner's huge, metal paws ripped the last cluster of trees apart. The mega-monster had a red torso and dark yellow-and-black limbs, each one ending in a five-fingered hand, much like an Earthen gorilla. Patches of its inner workings were exposed, but not from damage, the gaps were too clean. No, this creature was simply unfinished. Its head was nothing more than a lower jaw under a glass dome covering its positronic brain, which was dotted with flashing lights and fastened by a multitude of wires.

"Scatter!" Lennox shouted. "Sam! Mikaela! With me!"

"I'll give you cover!" cried Ironhide, opening and unloading both his cannons into the monster's chest and stomach while the three humans pressed themselves tight against another of the building's walls. Lennox readied his gun and held his free arm out in front of the two kids protectively.

"The items…" Sam murmured, "…inside the building…!"

"Then while that thing's distracted…" began Lennox.

"We should figure out a way to get inside," finished Mikaela. "Start looking for any vents or loose panels." She unzipped her rucksack and reached in, pulling Wheelie out like the convenient little toy he was. "Okay, little guy, let's get sleuthin'."

"I'm on it," Wheelie saluted and began tracing his hands along the surface. In all likelihood this complex would have other defences in case someone got through what was probably once a thick jungle, but there were also the possibilities of secret entrances, escape tunnels, rubbish chutes, anything!

Wheeljack cart-wheeled away from a punch that struck the ground with the force of a high-powered rocket. The beast was content to remain on top of the complex, which easily and quite miraculously held its great weight without trouble, while launching attacks in any direction it happened to choose.

"What in the name of Primus is that thing?!" Sideswipe spluttered.

"That would be Omega Supreme!" Wheeljack responded, sliding his shock-blast cannon out of its cavity. "We were never able to complete its construction before we were forced to evacuate, but it looks like its programming is intact." He powered up the cannon as Ironhide joined him with his own weapons.

"No! You fools!" Ratchet stood in their way with his arms spread. "That thing is one of the last remnants of Autobot achievement, do you really want to just wipe it out of existence?!"

"That's what it's gonna do to us!" Ironhide countered angrily. "Move it or lose it, Doc!" He shoved his way past the medic and peppered the monster again. Omega Supreme bellowed angrily and swung its long arm at Ironhide, catching the gunner in the side and launching him through the air. He landed hard on the ground, which gave way and deposited him in a slimy under-surface of black mud and tiny pools of leftover Energon and mercury.

"Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Bumblebee!" Wheeljack called to his comrades. "Its weak point is the processor! One of you needs to unhook it!" Bumblebee hit himself on the chest with one fist.

"In that case…" began Sideswipe.

"We'll keep it distracted," finished Sunstreaker. The titan clapped its hands together above its head and a ball of green fire engulfed them. It pulled the ball back like a bowler and then threw it. The Autobots rolled to either side but the shockwaves were still enough to toss them like ragdolls into the trees, then before they even had a chance to recover, their gargantuan opponent continued its assault. The sides of its calves opened to reveal glistening silver pile-drivers, pounding up and down on the building and generating seismic disturbances.

"E…easier said than done…!" groaned Sunstreaker, holding onto a tree-trunk for dear life. As Ironhide pulled himself out of the quagmire, he watched in wide-eyed disbelief as Omega Supreme ceased its earthquakes and unfolded its left forearm, revealing two Gatling cannon turrets.

XXX

Indeed, they did find a way inside, though it was not their first choice of passage. It was a chimney of sorts that sent the four of them tumbling and yelling towards the incinerator room. Sam landed with a heavy thud on the dusty floor, Mikaela landed on Sam and Lennox landed on his feet, then Wheelie landed on Mikaela's rump. The soldier glanced this way and that, ensuring the area was otherwise safe.

"Come on," he pointed across the room to the sole Autobot-sized door, "that's the only way to go." The others righted themselves and followed.

"This place is frickin' creepy," moaned Wheelie, clamping himself to Mikaela's leg. The girl stopped and lifted him up to sit on her shoulder.

"Don't freak out, little guy," she sighed. "If you freak out, I'll freak out."

"And you don't wanna see her freaked out," said Sam. "Seriously, took her to see a film by some Japanese director – Mike something – and when we came out of the theatre, her hair was standing up like a Chia Pet!"

"That was a follicle malfunction," Mikaela huffed.

"I'll say," Sam smirked, "you almost took out a guy's eye, Ms Bride of Frankenstein." Needless to say, about five seconds later, he was waddling several yards behind the rest of the party with an intense pain between his thighs and his voice was briefly three octaves higher. Lennox shook his head. He could see himself in the boy. He had been an idiot at that age too. They came to a fork in the passageway. The doorway on the left continued to lead straight forward while the right would take them up a set of ascending stairs.

"Sam," said Lennox.

"Yeah…?" Sam cleared his throat to help recompose his voice in its usual tone. "I mean, yeah, Major?"

"Which way are your ghosts going?" asked Lennox. He was a little sceptical of the story, but he knew the boy had not gone mad, even with that alien doo-hicky in his brain. Sam looked up, but alas, saw nothing. He considered voicing this, when Mikaela's voice spoke over him.

"I see it," she murmured, pointing to the right. "Don't you, Sam?" Sam blinked. Why was Mikaela seeing them and not him? Then it struck him. She was still wearing the ring on her finger. The items were more than super-powered fashion accessories. They were conduits to the Primes themselves, and this one had chosen to contact her instead of him. A direct phone line to the ancient past. The ring fizzled softly with electricity. She started jogging up the stairs. Lennox looked at Sam in puzzlement.

"You heard the lady," the boy shrugged and followed. Lennox rested his gun across his shoulder and went after them both.

Mikaela watched the giant taking them to their goal. It was female in figure, graceful and superior, like an angel. She had never had time for girly fantasies like princesses or fairies or unicorns (in fact she used to laugh at people like that), even today she would not consider herself especially feminine, but the thing she beheld seemed to embody the purity of these ideals. Its body was covered by rose red-and-white armour. Its limbs were slender with intricately carved forearm and shin-guards decorated with lethal-looking spikes and dainty fingers and feet. The face had six eyes framing an elegant nose. When she saw the long spear it carried, Mikaela realised she was wrong. This was not an angel, it was an Amazon. Someone both beautiful beyond compare as well as a force to be reckoned with in the heat of battle. The giant stopped and pointed up before fading like vapour. The humans looked around. They were in a round room divided down the middle by an arch, and on the other side of the arch was a black honeycomb structure lined with rows upon rows of human-sized plant bulbs. Most were dark and shrivelled and crusted with leaking fluid, but one was radiating an indigo light and they could see something floating inside.

"Those are birthing pods!" Wheelie exclaimed. "The last one must still be alive."

"Then we should save it," said Sam, breaking into a run.

"Kid, wait!" Lennox protested too late as the boy slammed into an invisible force field and was bounced backwards, landing painfully on his side. "Tried to warn ya…"

"Check it out," said Mikaela, gesturing to the top of the archway. There, embedded in the stone, was a huge, golden gauntlet. A triangular ruby was built into the back of the hand and occasionally it would emit a ring of turquoise energy. "I think that's what's creating the force field round the pods."

"In that case…" said Lennox, raising his weapon and priming its laser guidance beam on the stone surrounding the gauntlet.

"Can you get it down with that gun?" asked Mikaela.

"I'm a _surgeon_ with this gun," replied the soldier.

XXX

Omega Supreme rained down indiscriminate hatred from his Gatling guns, forcing the Autobots to scatter. Wheeljack and Ratchet had both unveiled metal lassos, one wrapped around the monster's neck and the other around its right wrist. They held with all their might as Ironhide bombarded it with round after round from his arm-cannons. Their quarry was starting to slow down due to the damage it had taken. Ironhide hated setting his weapons to 'low,' or Primus forbid, 'stun,' but he had agreed to do so only on the medic's insistence. Sunstreaker put his hands down on the ground and boosted Sideswipe into the air. The red warrior opened his sleeve-swords and jammed them into the guns, slicing the circuitry and forcing them to fall away, hitting the weak soil and breaking small holes in the surface. As all this was happening, Bumblebee managed to make his way up the distracted beast's back and had hooked his legs round its neck. He punched open the glass dome covering its processor and began to pull at the wires, attempting to disconnect its brain without causing permanent damage. After all, this was still technically an Autobot, one of their own. Omega Supreme reared back, pulling Ratchet and Wheeljack up and throwing Sideswipe aside. The three Autobots landed on the roof of the complex and the giant tried to reach back to grab the little pest on its head. Bumblebee felt one massive paw grab hold of his waist and start to pull. His radio buzzed and jarred angrily as he squirmed to keep his perch.

"Hurry, Bumblebee!" Ironhide boomed, avoiding a swipe from the beast's free paw. "Oh, to the Pit with this!" He turned his weapons up to full power and fired at the shoulder of the arm trying to wrench away his small teammate. The joint exploded in a shower of metal and impacted on the roof with an almighty _kra-ka-bam_! It narrowly missed Ratchet, Wheeljack and Sideswipe, who grunted their begrudging disapproval. Omega Supreme screeched and levelled a great clump of metal trees with its remaining hand. Bumblebee chirped in determination as he continued unplugging. With each removed cable, the monster's speed and mobility decreased and its hollers shrank first to mindless growls and then to stupid grunts and groans. When the last one came away, it stopped completely. Its head hung against its chest and its arm swung limply. Then it toppled forward, shattering the ground and spewing up sludge from the under-land, caking the Autobots.

"My poor paintjob!" Sunstreaker whined. "It's ruined! Ruined, I tell you!"

"Slag your paintjob, bro!" Sideswipe countered, running to the edge of the hole. He had not seen the little yellow warrior leap free of the abomination. "Bumblebee! Can you hear me?!" Jumping down to walk on the fallen behemoth, Sideswipe, Wheeljack and Sunstreaker started to search the wreckage. When they found Bumblebee up to his head in mud and lying just beside the broken brain-case, his body seemed to be intact if not for some rudimentary shell-wounds, and he appeared to be in a dazed state. He was clutching the copper-coloured, lozenge-shaped positronic brain between his hands. As they dragged him free, the last reverberating sounds of the fight disintegrated into nothingness.

"I can't believe we survived that," Wheeljack panted through his vents. "Demo-simulations showed Omega Supreme would enough power to flatten a whole fleet if completed."

"Well thank the Matrix that it wasn't," said Ratchet.

"What about my paintjob?!" Sunstreaker whinged.

"Don't worry, nobody will notice, just make left turns for the rest of your life," Sideswipe teased, giving his sibling a playful shove.

"You said earlier that Omega Supreme was meant to safeguard the future of our race," said Ironhide to Wheeljack, "but what exactly was it guarding?" With a whirr of gears, a door opened in the building and four figures emerged – three humans and a diminutive robot. Mikaela was carrying a gold-plated gauntlet while Sam and Lennox carried an un-hatched birthing pod between them.

"That answer your question?" Wheeljack remarked. He knelt down in front of the humans. "Is…is that the only one left?"

Sam sighed. "Yeah, 'fraid so." They set the pod down carefully as Mikaela held out the gauntlet so the others could see it clearly. Like its brethren, it had shrunk down to be carried more easily. Lennox fished around in his jacket and retrieved a digital camera.

"What'd you bring that for?" asked Sam.

"If I didn't get some shots of this, Simmons would kill me," the soldier replied. There was the sound of something bubbling and cracking. The group all turned in its direction, and lo and behold, the pod was beginning to open. It started with a tiny, circular hole at the very top, which expanded outwards, leaking embryonic fluid into the soil. When the top half of the pod had completely disappeared, allowing the remains to flop weakly like a discarded carrier bag, the creature inside wobbled unsteadily onto all four limbs. The hatchling was as long as Sam was tall, and mostly resembled a crustacean. Its body was an oily, slick exo-skeleton. Its head, bobbing on its neck so far unused to the new weight, had two blinking blue optics and clicking mandibles. A tadpole tail wiggled behind it. The hatchling squeaked and struggled its way towards them, only to collapse on its stomach.

_Good God,_ thought Mikaela, _is it cute…or just scary?_

XXX

Despite Sam's argument that he had seen two phantom Primes earlier instead of just one, the Autobots decided that their priority was to get the new hatchling back to the _Endeavour_. Jolt had just finished cleaning the leftover fluid from its body in the med-bay as the group discussed the fate of the last child of Cybertron.

"Of course it will be a most formidable _warrior_!" Ironhide declared. "I will teach it the ways of Cybertronian combat."

"What do you know about combat?" Sunstreaker piped up. "Me and Sideswipe are the martial artists, you know!"

"Ha!" the gunman scoffed. "I'm talking about _real_ fighting! Strength, stamina, blowing things up! Not dancing!"

"You know," Prowl put in, "it may be better suited to strategic work."

"Or hunting," said Hot Rod.

"It could grow up to become a medic, or maybe a scientist," said Wheeljack.

"I'm with Ironhide," said Kup. "A good Autobot should always know how to defend itself and its kin."

"And you don't argue with someone with his experience," Hot Rod jabbed his thumb towards the old warrior, but they could all detect the sarcasm in his voice. "Kup's done everything, even the stuff he hasn't." Kup promptly smacked him upside the back of the head. The hatchling was presently inhabiting an empty infirmary table and rummaging through Mikaela's rucksack. Wheelie was clutching a shimmering black Energon goodie about the size of a sugar cube and his mandibles were slowly draining it of the liquid inside. He looked up and saw the hatchling staring longingly at it. The small Autobot cocked an eyebrow-plate.

"Whatchu lookin' at, munchkin?" he asked. The hatchling said nothing. Wheelie made a small, annoyed noise in the back of his throat and after a moment of contemplation, offered the cube. The hatchling cautiously took it and started drinking.

Mikaela and Sam sat side-by-side on the edge of the table. Sam was sulking, feeling that he had been forgotten.

"I wonder what she's thinking right now," muttered Mikaela, "I mean, she's a newborn, but do you think she thinks like human babies?"

"What do you mean _she_?" asked Sam. "How can you tell?"

"Well I don't see any nards on it," Mikaela told him as if he had just asked what two plus two equalled. "So what else can it be?"

"Oh, come on!" Sam gestured towards the fully grown Transformers. "What about them, huh?"

"Autobots have modesty too?" Mikaela shrugged, not really caring.

"Actually, Miss Mikaela," said Wheelie, now standing at his owner's side. "It's kinda complicated, but to our kind, sex's more, ya know, preference."

"Shut up, Wheelie," Sam pouted, turning to look away. A cacophony of digital beeps, whistles and chirps exploded from behind them and all eyes and optics fell on the table. The hatchling had found Mikaela's iPod and plugged it in, and was now singing along to the music, although it seemed to be flicking through a different tune every five or so seconds.

"Holy slag," Wheelie gawped. "She – I mean, _he_ – _it's_ singin' three different Cybertronian dialects!"

"How in the Pit…?" Ironhide's voice caught in his throat.

"Dude! That's awesome!" Sideswipe cheered.

"That little sprocket learns quick," Hot Rod tittered.

"Looks like 'warrior,' is out of the question," Kup observed, much to his former charge's chagrin.

"Autobots," said Prowl with an edge of pride, "I think we've found our new communications officer-in-training." The hatchling noticed everyone looking at it and forced a nervous smile.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: "Intrusions"**

A short time had passed since the new hatchling had been brought back to the _Endeavour_. In the ship's med-bay, Mikaela still sat on the edge of the large metal operating table with the mechanical newborn's head in her lap. She was stroking the side of its head. Nearby, Sam and Lennox were bouncing names off one another, though so far Mikaela, like most women during this process, was more than eager to shoot their suggestions down. Bumblebee sat cross-legged on the floor behind his owner, occasionally wagging a finger at the hatchling to prompt a reaction. Mikaela felt both surprised and pleased at the similarity it had to a human child, and she was starting to develop a level of maternal love for it. Maybe it was that the hatchling had grown attached to her more than the others, maybe it was alien mind control. Whatever it was, it felt right.

"Blaster?" suggested Lennox.

"It's not a gun, you know," said Mikaela.

"Radiowave?" Sam piped up.

"What are you, 50?" said Mikaela.

"Harmonic?" shrugged Lennox.

"It's not a girl!" Sam protested.

"You don't know that," Mikaela pointed out.

"We now return to our regular broadcast," Bumblebee's radio cranked out. At the word 'Broadcast,' the hatchling looked up and released a slightly sinister sequence of beeps from its vocaliser.

"Uh…" Sam blinked. "Isn't that part of the ringtone from _One Missed Call_?"

"Maaaybe," Mikaela shrugged innocently. A tense pause passed between them as Sam tried to work out why his girlfriend had that particular sound on her iPod. Finally, Mikaela repeated, "Broadcast." The hatchling chirped again.

"Guess that settles that," she said, patting the newly named hatchling's head. Bumblebee's eyes shone as if someone had switched on a light-bulb in his braincase. He gently lifted Broadcast in one hand and walked towards the western wall of the room. A panel slid open to reveal a large digital screen with four arrow-shaped buttons surrounding a circular one. Bumblebee started pressing the buttons, as seemingly random items, vehicles and weapons scrolled over the monitor. When it reached one in particular, Broadcast signalled with a squeak. The yellow guardian pressed the round button and a thin slot opened above the monitor. A green stream of light emitted from it and connected to the hatchling's forehead. A few moments passed, then the light died and the wall closed again. Broadcast buzzed and folded its body into a small, compact, peach-coloured item. Bumblebee handed the transformed Autobot to Mikaela.

"Uh…a cassette player?" Sam scratched his head.

"It's a _Talkgirl_," his girlfriend explained. "A little 1990s, but still good. Oh, and just so we're clear, that's Talk_girl_. That confirms she's female."

"Whatever!" Sam threw his hands up and turned away. Bumblebee walked across the room and removed something from a cavity in his chest. He had found the odd thing in the remains of Omega Supreme, quite certain it did not belong there. It was square-shaped with a loop on one side and a series of thin extensions on the opposite one. A dull crystal orb was fixed in the middle between the two flatter surfaces.

"What's that, Bee?"

Startled by Sam's question, Bumblebee stuffed the object back in the cavity and clasped his hands together in front of him while emitting a melodic whistling noise.

XXX

He was back on Cybertron, back in the days before the Great War tore their race in two. He and his brother were still young, ruling their world after the decision made by the Architects, those wise and powerful mystics who monitored the great mathematical equation of reality from the flows of non-physicality. Of the two, he was the one who achieved the rank of Prime, the highest honour that could be bestowed upon a Cybertronian noble, but High Lord Protector was a fantastic privilege in itself if ultimately beneath him. They stood side-by-side on the balcony of Airthrone, the watchtower and court that served as their home. Spread out before them was the wonderful expanse of lush silver trees and swirling mercury rivers around the magnificent city-state of Iacon.

"Brother," said Megatron, "there is a darkness coming. Can you not feel it in your Spark?"

"Darkness?" asked Optimus. "You always were a worrier. Peace has reigned among our people for as long as we care to remember. The Cybertronian Empire is in perfect tranquillity. Nobody dares to stand against us."

"Your complacency could prove costly to us both," Megatron warned, "I would be wary of my words if I were you."

"If this darkness is such a threat," Optimus sniped, "then why haven't _I_ felt it? _I'm_ Prime after all. I won't let your paranoia spoil my day. I'll see you at the banquet tonight."

"Brother…" Megatron murmured, his hurt apparent, as his sibling descended the stairs into the tower. Watching the exchange, he was not so self-centred that he thought he could prevent the Fallen from corrupting Megatron, though perhaps if he had been less arrogant and treated him like an equal rather than an underling, he could have tried harder, could have helped. While he did not know when exactly the Fallen had started planting the seeds of corruption, he felt sure it was that very same night. Time passed and bit-by-bit, Megatron fell deeper into a spiral of evil and chaos, culminating in the murder of a high-ranking senator during the Primuinox, the Festival of Light, Cybertron's most cherished holiday. He watched the story unfold, the first kill, the declaration of war. As his younger self met his brother in mortal combat, tearing the grand hall of Airthrone asunder, Optimus Prime turned away, blotting it from his mind and letting himself float in a sea of dream-matter. He was not so self-centred that he thought he could have stopped the temptation or thwarted the Fallen's plans before they even began, but perhaps if he had listened and taken heed of the warning, he could have at least helped Megatron. Too late for that now. The High Lord Protector had closed his optics, and the Emperor of Destruction opened them.

"You can't change the past," he told himself, "but you can learn from its mistakes and preserve the future."

"Spoken like a true Prime," said another voice. Optimus whirled round to see the old hunchback advancing towards him, one hand on his back and one gripping the top of a long walking stick.

"I said before that it was an honour to meet you," said Jetfire, "but when I gave my Spark so you could take my body and my power, how was I to know it would put me on the fast track to redemption, eh?" He chuckled. "Old Jetfire, so frightful that they gave him the first space bridge, helping the master of the Autobots. Now if only they'd given me my young body."

"Why are you here, Jetfire?" asked Optimus, though not rudely.

"Oh, yes, of course," the old timer nodded. "Your ancestors have work for you. See, when that young sprog used the Matrix to bring you back, it opened a conduit between yourself and the Well of All Sparks. Now…" He tapped his stick on Optimus' shoulder. "Let's be off, shall we?" With that, he started off in another direction. Optimus paused to thumb one of his antennae thoughtfully before following the old explorer. As they walked, the void gave way to the stone hallway. The walls were covered in ancient characters and the ceiling above them was made of a strong glass, allowing those inside to gaze up into an intricate system of grinding gears, like they were in the very guts of the world. They came to a stop in front of a huge, round door.

"This is as far as we can go with me in the lead," said Jetfire, "you have to be the one to open the door, Prime." Optimus nodded and hesitantly held out both hands. His palms glowed white and the door began to open. Magnificent, blinding rays shone out from within…

XXX

Sam stood outside the _Endeavour_, needing some time alone with his thoughts, and from what he had seen, there was plenty of room to be alone on this dead world. He gazed the way they had gone before, the way they found the swamp, through the remains of what may have once been a city space-port, and caught sight of the other Prime he had seen before. This one was clothed in a tattered white robe that almost completely covered its body. Its skeletal hands hung from its long sleeves, holding a staff tipped with four serpentine blades, and what little was visible of its face appeared to be a deep green colour.

"Oh, great," Sam groaned, putting his palm to his forehead, "it's the Prime of Christmas Future. Can't you guys give me a break? Just a little one?"

The Prime pointed. Sam shook his head. The Prime pointed again while tapping his staff impatiently on the ground.

"Fine!" Sam snapped. "Fine, whatever! No rest for the guy with the magic box in his noggin!"

"Who are you talking to, Sam?" asked Raoul from the doorway.

"It doesn't matter," Sam shook his head. "I, uh, gotta talk to Prowl and the others."

XXX

"These guys don't waste time, do they?" said Raoul. They were all gathered on the bridge now to discuss who would go on the next expedition. Ironhide and Kup both had a sinking feeling of what they would find if they continued in the same direction as they had once already. The Autobots chattered actively for a few moments but fell silent when they heard familiar heavy footfalls coming into the room.

"I…will go…" Optimus panted through his vents.

"Sir, please! Wait!" Jolt was chasing him along, trying his best to steady the Energon drip hanging from the giant's arm.

"I've sat by for too long while you have all put yourselves in danger."

"No, Prime," said Prowl, raising a hand to stop him. "It's good to see you up and functional but you're still disoriented. Your body needs to readjust. _I_ will lead in your place. I've captained a ship for long enough, I believe I am more than capable."

"But-" Optimus began.

"With all due respect," Ratchet intervened, "you may be our leader, but as far as medical matters go, I far outrank you, and I say you need to get back into bed." Optimus' antennae drooped, realising the medic was right despite his resistance. He still felt weak and unstable, resting one massive hand against the wall. Ratchet and Jolt rested his arms over their shoulders.

"We'll get him back to the med-bay," said the apprentice, "and make sure he stays there until he's fully able."

"They'll wanna lobotomise him next," Wheeljack snorted.

"Autobots," said Prowl after selecting his team, "let's roll out." Bumblebee transformed to car mode and Sam climbed into the driver's seat. As Mikaela started to follow, two metal arms wrapped round her from behind. Broadcast chirped in her ear what probably translated as a childish, _"Nooooo."_

"Sorry, babe," Sam could not help but grin, "but I guess you'll have to sit this one out. Don't wait up."

XXX

Six vehicles traversed the barren desert towards their destination. As always, the phantom Prime flew some distance ahead of them, and the team depended solely on Sam's directions. So far, they had made a shortcut around the swamp and were now headed further south. Prowl and Bumblebee took the lead with Sam, while Hot Rod and Wheeljack followed behind and Kup and Ironhide with Lennox brought up the rear. A cluster of towers seemed to rise up behind the hills. The fortress was separated from the rest of the continent by what used to be the biggest body of liquid on the surface of Cybertron, which was now just another wasteland.

"I had a feeling we'd wind up here," said Ironhide.

"Polyhex Prison," croaked Kup, "it's said that it's worse than the belly of Unicron." The Autobots were all noticeably on-edge. Any speech was clipped and brief and there was an obvious reluctance as they advanced on the building. About halfway across the dip of land that used to be part of the sea, Sam piped up, "Who's Unicron?"

_I'm detecting active power-lines under the ground,_ Hot Rod thought. _Something's wrong_.

XXX

Waiting was always the worst part. It was a necessary evil, but that did not make him feel better about it. He craved the feel of spilt oil on his hands and the taste of mech-fluid. It was like drinking purified pain. No, he was still waiting. He lost count of how many mega-cycles had passed since his last communication with Lockdown. He walked through the dimly lit corridors of Polyhex, watching the light bounce off the cells and the lifeless carcases inside. These were prisoners who never received the death sentence but rather had been left to starve and rot. 'Bots that, to Jetstorm's mind, nobody would miss. Returning to his oval control room, the High Executioner watched a little, ball-shaped all-purpose drone float past. Well, he could always do with a little target practise while he waited. Unfolding the blaster on his forearm, Jetstorm fired a blast that blew the drone into the wall with a heavy resounding 'CLANG!' It dropped to the floor and shattered, leaving a dent in the wall. Jetstorm paused. The complex was supposed to be made from stone, what little metal remained in its outside construction was just shielding, but stone could not be dented so, could it? Approaching the wall, he rested his hands and opened his audio receptors, tapping with his fingers. Yes. He was certain now. It was hollow. Jetstorm walked back to the middle of the control room and retrieved something from his diverse collection of delicious devices of torture, a fine laser of variable intensity. He aimed the laser at the wall and turned it on at its highest setting. The white hot stream of heat shot out and burnt through the wall with the ease of a fish through water. Guiding it with the expertise he had gained from the countless toys he had slowly cut to ribbons, Jetstorm did not switch the laser off until he had formed a perfect circle. He pulled the section of the wall away and set it down.

"Oh my…" he said to himself, stepping into the room beyond. It was small with bare, mirrored walls and no lights. The only illumination flooded in from the control room, casting an eerie greenish filter over his many reflections. In the middle of the hidden chamber was an altar, and resting on it was a loop, nay, a belt. It was composed of tightly sealed silver bands. The buckle was hexagonal and carved with ancient characters. When Jetstorm picked it up, the belt changed its size to fit his slender waist.

"Not really my colour, but I've got nothing else to do," he murmured, clipping the belt together around him. His optics sparkled in astonishment as a feeling like walking beneath a waterfall washed over him. He raised his hands instinctively, but saw nothing. "By the bristling beard of Primus!" He glanced towards one of the mirrored walls but nothing looked back at him. Stumbling and falling onto his posterior with a yelp, he took a moment to regain his composure. He unclipped the belt, and as if by magic his reflection reappeared. He clipped it back together, and the reflection vanished in a blink.

Off. Visible.

On. Invisible.

"Ooh!" Jetstorm tittered. "_This_ could be fun!" Walking back into the control room, he watched the door whoosh open as one of his underlings came in from the corridor. Rumble was a blood-red coloured collection of sharp edges and skittering limbs with six yellow optics, no two of which blinking at the same time. He had bulky, cylindrical shoulders over his otherwise skinny limbs, which split in half at the elbows, thus making four. He was a paranoid mesh of nerves and jumpy movements.

"High Executioner!" Rumble gibbered. "Autobots spotted breaching the perimeter! Six of 'em! And…and…s-sir…?"

Jetstorm lifted himself onto his foot-tips and delicately advanced on the smaller Decepticon's back. He grabbed the surprised Transformer in both hands and raised him over his head, revelling in his minion's panic attack. He then threw him against the wall. Stunned, Rumble slid to the floor in a crumpled pile of pieces.

"Autobots, eh?" Jetstorm clicked his mandibles as he removed his newfound belt. "Splendid. I should get some practise in before they arrive." Turning away from Rumble, Jetstorm willed open a door on the far side of the room. It was a corridor that went nowhere, lined with chains that held decayed shells. To the lone Transformer barely clinging to life at the far end, the master of Polyhex was a slow moving angel of death. In fact, among the prisoners, that had been Jetstorm's moniker. The executioner knelt down in front of his victim and propped his chin up with one hand. He was in a sorry state. The Autobot warrior's outer shell had been badly damaged. Great, gaping wounds showed inner systems stained with leaking lubricant. One leg was completely severed and his Spark chamber was exposed. The glistening gem inside was small, weak, losing the struggle. He had lost track of how long he had been held here, but he knew it had been an age. The life he had before seemed eons past.

"Hmm…I've had you for quite a while now," Jetstorm cooed. "Really, you're starting to wear out, good thing I have some _new_ toys on the way. Quite fortunate, don't you think so, little one?" The tone in his voice and the look in his optics said everything. He was going to kill him. The Autobot, facing his end, would at least go out with some dignity. He snorted, and spat oil in his captor's face.

"My name," said the Autobot, "is _Spanner_."

"Not for much longer," Jetstorm growled, wiping the oil from his face.

XXX

Ratchet plucked the Energon drip from Optimus' body.

"All right, Prime," said the medic, "the transfusion's done. Your body's recovered, but take it easy for a little while. Soon you'll be as good as if you just rolled out of the forge."

"Thank you, Ratchet," said Optimus. "I am sorry for putting you all so much trouble, old friend. If I had been able, I would have helped you to find the other items much sooner."

"Now don't be foolish," Ratchet shook his head. "If you hadn't space bridged us, it could have taken much longer to reach Cybertron."

"Uh, sirs," said Jolt as he entered the med-bay. "Some of the others aren't very comfortable with sitting around here, and wanted to know if they could go on a salvaging mission to Iacon. It's just a few hics from here and we could be back in no time."

Ratchet was about to protest but Optimus spoke first, "Who, Jolt?"

"Well…me," the apprentice admitted, "and, ah, Chromia, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker and Sergeant Epps."

"If it's just the five of you," said Optimus, "then very well, but make sure not to take too long, and to be careful. Should I assume you will be taking responsibility?"

"Y-yes, yes, sir!" Jolt saluted. "Happily!"

"Good. Dismissed," said Optimus, saluting back. Jolt transformed into his car mode and rolled away. The Autobot leader turned to Ratchet, "I hope you don't mind."

"No, of course not," the medic shrugged. "Jolt's excitable, but he's a good kid. He'll be careful…I hope."

A few cycles passed. Tracks and Raoul were deep in conversation on the bridge when they heard noises outside. Not the familiar sounds of their comrades, but something else. Raoul climbed up onto the alcove of the nearest window for a better view.

"Um, Tracks?" said the Latin man. "Take a look." The dark blue thespian obliged, standing at his friend's side. His optics whirred and Raoul could have sworn that his red face-plate paled. The sound they heard was the rumbling of heavy caterpillar-tracks. A silver alien tank was thundering towards them.

"Oh dear," Tracks gulped. He looked across the bridge to where Arcee and Corona were coming in from another part of the ship, having also detected the strange vibrations.

"We have trouble," said Tracks. Gunfire exploded outside and hit the hull of the ship. The door crumpled inwards and a deep, growling voice boomed, "Little pigs, little pigs, let me in!"

"Megatron!" Arcee and Corona exclaimed together.

"I'm flattered you remember me, Autobots," the tank sneered as it transformed to its monstrous robot mode.

"Raoul," said Tracks, setting the human on the floor, "find Mikaela and Broadcast and get them to safety, and warn Optimus Prime and Ratchet." Raoul hesitated, but realised what he had to do. He would only be in the way if he stayed on the bridge, so he nodded and ran off. Tracks called upon his twin shoulder-mounted cannons as the two sisters unfolded their hand-blasters.

"You will not pass, Megatron!" he cried.

"Such heroic nonsense," the Decepticon leader chortled. He clapped his hands together at arm's length and a long, black gun barrel grew from his joined fingertips. "Taste fusion cannon!"

Raoul found Mikaela and Broadcast in the human quarters. They had been sleeping, but the impact of the initial bombardment that shaken them alert.

"What's going on out there?!" Mikaela demanded of her cousin.

"Two rude dudes with attitudes," Raoul replied quickly. "We gotta get outta here."

"Where to?!"

"I don't know! Just run!"

Broadcast shrunk back into her cassette player form and Mikaela picked her up. Raoul took her by the wrist and dashed out of the quarters and down the hall. The place had to have a backdoor somewhere, they just had to find it. They ducked down as Optimus raced over them towards the battle with Ratchet in close pursuit. The humans turned another corner only to run into a dead end.

"Shit!" Raoul cursed. "Come on, let's double back!"

"I don't think so, human germs," a shrill voice cackled. The wall beside them exploded as Ratchet's yellow body was thrown through it, landing hard on the floor, barely missing the humans, who were positioned between his arm and its pit. The silver, crook-legged form of a winged Decepticon stood over the toppled doctor.

"Starscream!" Mikaela gasped.

"Going somewhere, my little human germs?" the flyer grinned.

Ratchet turned his head to look at the humans, "R…Run…now…" As Starscream reached down, the medic grabbed him by the wrist. A buzz-saw slid out of his free hand and he brought it down on the captive arm. Starscream roared in pain as heat particles flew from his skin. While the flyer was occupied, Raoul and Mikaela started running again.

"Wretched old fool," the Decepticon hissed through the pain in his arm. He clamped his other hand around Ratchet's face and the pistons in his arm hummed as he began to smash it backwards into the floor.

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! Again and again! Cracking shell and spilling mech fluid! BAM! BAM! BAM! CRACK! Ratchet's arms went limp and Starscream purred in satisfaction as he heard his opponent's systems power down. Even if he did somehow survive, he would not be a threat. The flyer's optical crosshairs centred on the retreating humans and he lifted his uninjured arm, firing a net that sealed itself round the targets and dragged them back.

"Now…what to do with you…" Starscream pondered. He caught sight of the cassette player and his optics switched to spectrum. The little device was radiating a yet-to-mature Autobot energy signature. Reaching into the net, he grabbed the player between finger and thumb.

"No! Let go!" Mikaela cried, struggling to hold on.

"You wanna piece o' me?!" Raoul snapped. "You want some, tin-grin?!" Starscream tore the player from the girl's hands and let the humans fall to the floor. Broadcast transformed to her peach-and-coral pink robot mode and writhed in an attempt to break free.

"You will make a fine Decepticon, my pretty," he whispered gently. "Come, a better destiny awaits you." Calling on the cluster bomb launcher attached to his forearm, Starscream blasted a hole in the side of the ship and transformed to jet mode, sealing Broadcast in the cockpit as he streaked away into the atmosphere.

"BROADCAST!" Mikaela screamed. "GIVE HER BACK! _GIVE HER BAAAACK!"_

The Autobots in the bridge had been no match for Megatron. With his deadly fusion cannon and swinging flail, he had levelled them all with ease, and now only Optimus Prime stood against him. Megatron could tell by his brother's posture that he was not at full strength, and the idea of striking him down in such a state was tempting, but ultimately repulsive to him. He wanted their final battle to be special.

"I'll let you live, Prime," he said, "but only because crushing you at peak condition will be so much sweeter."

"You'll pay for what you've done, Megatron," the Autobot leader growled.

"Then consider this a deposit," his counterpart chuckled, smashing the ball of his flail into his brother's stomach and knocking him to the floor.

"Megatron," Starscream's voice broke in over his communicator, "I've retrieved a Sparkling and disabled their medic."

"Excellent work," replied Megatron. "Let's return to base." He shifted back to tank mode and thundered off. Optimus struggled up onto all fours and reached out with one shaking hand, but his strength failed and he collapsed. The sounds of battle died and the dust settled, and the only sound was Mikaela's sobs.

XXX

"Jolt to _Endeavour_," said the blue apprentice medic, tapping the com-link in his head-casing, "do you read me? Slag, must be some kind of interference on the line." The devastated remains of Iacon, the planet's capital city-state, lay around him in every direction. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were investigating the ruins of what may have been either a city centre or a shopping plaza before the war levelled it.

"Remember when we used to come here, bro?" asked Sideswipe. "When we were with the band?"

"I remember," said Sunstreaker, "I remember we sucked nodes, but we enjoyed ourselves anyway."

"Then we got ourselves drafted into the army," Sideswipe sighed. "Still, we wound up with some sweet upgrades as a result." He activated one of his sleeve-swords to emphasise his point.

"Careful you two," said Jolt, "we've no idea what might be hiding in the wreckage." Epps rode up to the medic driving a blue motorcycle.

"We found some kinda storage space under the city," the soldier reported.

"It's locked, but we figured you could fry the electro-lock," added the motorcycle.

"All right," the medic nodded. "Lead the way, guys." Chromia turned and drove away in the direction she came from. Jolt gestured for the twins to come and followed. For a short time they walked unmolested, but this was not to last.

Sideswipe stepped on what he assumed to be just another slab in the pavement, but it collapsed beneath him and he fell through with a cry of frightened surprise, landing with a thick splash.

"Bro!" Sunstreaker called down. "Are you okay?"

"I think I dislodged a rotator!" Sideswipe responded.

"Hang on! I'm coming down!" Sunstreaker took hold of the edge of the hole and began to lower himself, but the weight of the robot's body caused more of the ground to crumble, and Sunstreaker, Jolt, Chromia and Epps all fell into the murky sewers below.

"Oh, God!" Epps gagged. "It stinks down here!"

"These are the sewage systems of the old city," Jolt explained. "They closed down and rerouted most of the pipelines after some kind of infestation. The details were covered up."

"Guess red tape's universal, huh?" said Epps. He paused, feeling movement in the water. "Hold up, there's something in here with us."

"Help!" Sunstreaker hollered as he stamped about in a panic. "There's something on my back! Help me!" Jolt switched on the lamps on his head and shone them in the yellow warrior's direction. Something huge and black and slimy had glued itself to his back, draining the very Energon from his body.

"Holy shit!" Epps yelped. "What the hell is that?!"

"Power leech," Jolt's voice was choked.

"Get off me!" Sideswipe's was panicked. Chromia grunted and growled in frustration. Spinning his lights on them, he and Epps saw that the disgusting vermin had latched onto the other Autobots too and now all three of them were writhing and squirming as their life was slowly sucked right out of them.

"Jolt! Look out!" Epps cried. Jolt staggered back as a fourth leech burst out of the water. On instinct, Epps opened fire from his gun. The bullets only singed its armoured hide but it was enough to catch the leech's attention. It lunged at him, the fangs surrounding its circular maw spread wide.

"Eat this, motherf-!" The last syllable was rendered inaudible by another burst of gunfire. The bullets entered the creature's throat and exploded out the back of its head. The leech gurgled and fell sideways.

"Yeah! Yeah! Suck it!" Epps whirled round on Sunstreaker, the nearest. "Jolt! If they're anything like the leeches on Earth, burning 'em will make 'em detach! Whip those babies out!"

Jolt did nothing. He was struck dumb with fear.

"Damn it, Jolt!" Epps roared. "You're a doctor!"

Chromia slammed herself into the wall of the sewer, and when that did not work, she reached over her shoulder with her blaster. The blast took a nice chunk out of the leech's body but it only served to make the creature dig deeper. Only then did the fem-bot scream, which was enough to jog the medic out of his paralysed state. He launched his electro-whips from their sockets and snapped them, first attacking the leech attacking Sideswipe. Wounded, the monster fell off with a splash and Epps finished it off by firing another stream of lead through its mouth. They repeated the process on the others, and soon the leeches were nothing but piles of dead metal and flesh lying in the filthy waters of the sewer.

"You guys okay?" asked Jolt.

"I'll live," said Chromia.

"It…uh…" Sunstreaker reached back to touch one of the fang-marks on his back. "It's just a shell-wound."

"Can we go now?" asked Sideswipe. "We might not be leech-food anymore but I'm still in _unspeakable agony_ here!"

Sunstreaker slung his brother's arm over his shoulders and fired his grappling hook hands, clutching the edge of the now much wider hole. After testing the stability, he pulled himself back up, and then lowered his hands to retrieve the others. There were the sounds of water shifting in the distant tunnel. More leeches were on their way.

"Forget the energy store," said Epps, "we'll come back later. You guys need them wounds tended to. Burnin' those suckers ain't always the brightest idea, but hell if I was gonna thumb _those_ things to death."

XXX

If the open doors had not been enough of a clue, the heat said it all. The Autobots and their human allies were not alone in Polyhex. The pipes feeding in and out of the complex were hot to the touch. Bits of robotic corpses littered the island's ashy sand. The Autobots had all hoped their destination was outside, but when Sam reported that the phantom Prime was wandering through the gaping, mouth-like entrance, they had all cursed loudly in Cybertronian, but necessity kept them going. They had a job to do after all, and an important one at that. The rooms were cavernous nets of metal catwalks suspended over vats of boiling molten muck. Hooked chains rattled above them.

"It's like a nightmare," said Hot Rod.

"This place was originally built as a recycling centre," Kup explained, "but early in the Great War, the 'Cons laid claim to it and turned it into a prison camp. Any captured Autobots were brought here and dropped right into the vats. The metal left over was used to create armour and weaponry."

"Waste not, want not," Hot Rod mumbled to himself. Kup considered swatting his charge for such a callous remark, but lowered his hand. The boy was obviously shaken and using humour to maintain his spirits. He was not so different in his youth. Simmons peered over the edge of the catwalk at one of the orange-white pools below. One foot landed on a splatter of spilt oil and he slipped from the walk. Lennox caught him by the hand just before he could sink into the pool and suffer a most painful death.

"What would you do without me, huh?" the soldier smirked, pulling his comrade back up onto the catwalk.

"Uh, thanks, Major," said Simmons. He looked up at Ironhide, the nearest robot. "I saw someone in the smelting pit. They're still alive." Ironhide put one hand on the safety rail and peered over. Indeed, a pair of shoulders and a head were bobbing on the surface of the molten chemicals. His blue optics were flickering weakly and one badly melted hand was reaching up to them.

"We have to save him!" the agent squawked.

"There is nothing we can do, my friend," Kup said sadly. Bumblebee saw the choked expression on Sam's face and used one hand to turn him away.

"There's nothing we can do for him. If he's down there, he's beyond saving," Ironhide sighed sadly. Lennox looked down at the struggling Autobot and shook his head.

"There's one thing we can do," said the soldier, lifting his gun. "And that's to end his suffering." A single bullet through the forehead put the poor Autobot out of his misery. The group watched as a little ball of white-and-blue energy lifted up from under the surface of the chemicals. It floated in front of them and the last words to go through Spanner's mind before he fizzled out of this realm of existence were _Thank you._

"You…you did the right thing, Major," said Ironhide. "His Spark is in a better place."

"We have to keep moving forward," said Prowl. "Sam, where is the Prime leading us?"

"He…I don't know," said Sam. "He's just…floating there."

"Oh great, an indecisive ghost," Wheeljack groaned. "So now what? We just stand around until it condescends to move?" He then added snidely. "If it even exists at all?"

"Shut up, Wheeljack," said Hot Rod, whacking him upside the back of the head. The inventor grumbled indistinguishably and rubbed the spot where he had been struck. Sam waited a moment, considering the options, then pointed to a metal staircase leading up to a large round platform from which other catwalks extended in various directions around the gargantuan room. As they ascended, Wheeljack's ears flashed and he spoke lowly to the others.

"Did anyone else sense that?"

"I did," said Kup. "Two bogeys comin' right at us." A shrill screech from above caught their attention. A vast, predatory bird swooped into view. Its armoured body was sleek and dark, the boxy package attached to its underside was blood red.

"Slazer, attack!" a hoarse voice came from the package. It detached from the bird and transformed into a skittering, six-eyed robot that landed a few feet in front of the humans.

"Why do I get the feeling I've seen that runt before?" Simmons remarked. Indeed, Rumble was a runt. Height-wise, he only came up to Sam's waist, but that made him no less dangerous.

"All I know," said Lennox, "is that I've killed bigger 'Cons than this. Gimme your best shot, big kahuna." Rumble chattered angrily as the cylinders on his shoulders grew to cover his arms and he started pummelling the metal platform. The three humans fell over with mixed yelps. The Decepticon warrior lunged forward, ready to pound Lennox's face into mush, but the soldier lifted his boots in time to block his assailant.

"Hey, metal-head," Lennox pressed the barrel of his gun to Rumble's chest. "Take a bite of peach." He fired a blast that threw the Decepticon across what had become a battle royal arena…or if one is a lover of puns, a royal _rumble_. Rumble drove his pile-drivers into the floor and propelled himself into the air, this time towards Simmons.

"Look out!" Lennox cried. Simmons reached into his suit jacket and retrieved a handgun. A well-aimed shot shattered one of Rumble's optics. The Decepticon fell to his knees and clutched his face, screaming.

"Filthy slimy horrible skin-sacks!" he wailed. "I'll lubricate in your vocalisers!" Seething with pain and rage, he stood up and retracted the pile-drivers back into his shoulders. His four hands started spinning like saws and he charged again. Lennox and Simmons dived aside, but the mad robot continued towards Sam. The two adults shouted for the boy to move, but Rumble still managed to carve deep cuts across Sam's right cheek and his chest, which also left a considerable hole in his shirt. He grabbed the boy's throat in two hands and lifted him up, preparing to chop his head off.

"Help!" Sam spluttered. The two adults primed their weapons on Rumble's legs and opened fire. The Decepticon squealed and let his prey go as he dropped to his knees. Simmons and Lennox grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him away as Sam massaged his sore neck.

"Heave…" Lennox began.

"Ho!" Simmons finished and tossed Rumble with all their might. The Decepticon flew over the edge of the platform and dug his claws into the edge. As he dangled over the smelting pit below, he cursed up at the humans.

"Enjoy your bath, creep," Lennox remarked, blowing the top of Rumble's head away. The Decepticon released a bloodcurdling death-scream as he plunged into the pit and was barbecued in moments.

While this was happening, the Autobots were occupied with the bird-robot, Slazer, who bobbed and weaved around them while peppering them with small explosives.

"Shoot it down! Shoot it down!" cried Wheeljack.

"I can't!" Hot Rod responded, trying to aim but each shot from his finger-lasers missed. "It's too fast!" Ironhide charged his cannons at their lowest setting. He had a deep dislike of doing so, but he realised that if he fired at their normal intensity and missed, he risked causing serious damage to the building's integrity. Prowl unfolded his gun and balanced it across his other forearm. He remained calm, cool, his optics tracing the direction of the bird.

"20 degrees to the right and down," said he.

"What?" the gunman looked down at him. "But, Prowl-"

"Trust me," Prowl interrupted. What few knew about Prowl was why his military career had been mainly gravitated around strategic command - it was a certain uniqueness in his processor that gave him the ability to read what he called, 'lines of probability.' While not always exactly right, he was able to read these lines with great skill, discerning his enemy's moves through the electrical pulses given off by their positronic brains (providing he had enough time to concentrate, of course). With his fellow Autobots providing cover fire, he worked out that Slazer would head straight for him, and that granted him his one-of-a-kind advantage. Ironhide turned and fired his guns on Prowl's command, striking the flying Decepticon and sending it into a barrel role. Prowl fired a shot into its underside and it spiralled towards Wheeljack and Bumblebee, who each took hold of a wing and pulled tight as Kup's right hand was replaced by a long chainsaw blade. The saw cleaved Slazer neatly down the middle, spilling oil and greenish mech-fluid at their feet.

"Good work, everyone," said Prowl, "but remain alert."

"This way," Sam pointed to one of the catwalks extending from the platform, and off they went. Climbing up to yet another level, the Prime stopped, and thus so did the expedition group. They waited on tenterhooks for something to happen. There was a roar of thrusters from up above, and laser-fire rained down from the air. The floor belched up small explosions from the narrow catwalk they stood on.

"What the hell was that?" Lennox growled.

"Some kind of stealth cloak?" Ironhide suggested.

"No," Wheeljack shook his head. "There's no radiation. This is something else."

"It has to be the item," Sam piped up. "That's why the Prime brought us here." Simmons pushed him down as another wave of blasts shot towards them.

"Thanks for the exposition, kiddo," said the agent, "but when someone's firing weaponry at you, it's a better idea to clam up and duck." Prowl attempted to scan the trajectory of the lasers to work out where the mysterious enemy would go next, but even its brain-pulses were cloaked. There was no way for him to scan it!

"Everybody on the defensive," he ordered. Bumblebee shielded the humans with his body as more blasts charred the primary layers of metal skin on his back. He swung out his gun and fired in the general direction they had come from, but the projectile struck a fuel-line, which vomited thick, brown liquid that splashed everything in its vicinity. Some hung in the air as if by magic, coating the nosecone of an invisible fighter plane.

"There!" Prowl pointed. "Fire all weapons!"

The Autobots bombarded the plane, and with an outraged shriek it spiralled away into the green-tinted shadows.

"It's not over," said Kup dryly. "It'll retreat to clean itself then attack again. We have to remain on-guard and wait, like the time my squad fought the Invisible Swordsmen of Landis 4."

XXX

Lockdown was not impressed. He did not appreciate things going against his overall plan, and the stunt Megatron and Starscream pulled was something of great annoyance to him. While Starscream stood in the corridor of the ship, trying to comfort the wailing and screaming Sparkling they had abducted, the gladiator was arguing with Megatron.

"What gives you the right?!" Lockdown demanded. "Why did you not come to me?!"

"How dare you speak to me like that?!" Megatron boomed. "_I_ am the High Lord Protector of Cybertron, _I _am the one who established the Decepticons! I am _not_ some low-level underling you can push around! Don't you forget, Lockdown, without me you'd be a worthless nothing! Do you hear me?!"

As this exchange went on, Bludgeon was eyeing the crying Sparkling with absolute disdain, his hand resting on the butt of his sword. Starscream noticed this and hissed angrily.

"Touch her and I'll shove that blade up your exhaust pipe." Bludgeon turned away, muttering under his breath about misbehaved children. He walked towards the two leaders.

"The Autobots are no doubt angry that you took that Sparkling," said the lieutenant, "and coupled with their superior numbers, that anger will draw them right to us."

"I doubt it," Megatron snorted. "I'd be surprised if some of them ever walk again after what we did to them."

"Pardon me for saying so, High Lord," said Bludgeon curtly, "but you're a naïve idiot. Some animals will fight no matter how injured they are when their young are threatened. To nullify the risk, we should return it."

"Let's not be hasty, my dear Bludgeon," Lockdown cooed, stroking his long chin. "It would be a shame to waste such a good hostage."

XXX

Jetstorm cackled with mad glee as the Autobots fell in submission against him. With the power of the belt coupled with his incredible speed, he was absolutely unstoppable. Down below, Kup was on his knees, concentrating only on listening, channelling extra power into his audio receptors. The chainsaw extending from his wrist was thirsty for oil. There it was. The whistle of propulsion thrusters. _Closer…closer…now!_ Kup whirled with his chainsaw buzzing. The racing teeth struck metal skin and their assailant lost control, spinning into the wall and ricocheting off, leaving a trail of fluid behind him.

"Wheeljack!" the old warhorse shouted. "Get out yer boom-stick! Now!" The inventor rose up with his shock-blast cannon in hand. Taking aim at the trail of leaking lubricant, he pulled the trigger. The blast missed and opened a sizable hole in the wall, but the heat from it was enough to light the fluid, and in turn, the Transformer from which it was coming. Jetstorm screamed as he flew around like an apparition, body ablaze.

Kup, awing at the magnificent fireball, could only utter one word, "Groovy." Jetstorm crashed onto another platform and the Autobots and humans made their way to him. Transforming painfully, the winged Decepticon tried to stand, but was too badly injured. Still invisible, the only thing they could see was the layer of burnt shell and a few licks of fire still remaining.

"I like my 'Cons extra crispy," Kup smirked, planting one foot on Jetstorm's chest. "Okay, wise-guy, you're gonna answer a few questions. Answer right, and maybe I won't tear off yer head an' lubricate down yer throat."

"Kup, wait," said Sam. Jumping down from his perch on Bumblebee's open palm, he ran over to where Jetstorm lay and climbed up onto his waist. After some fiddling at what appeared to be thin air, there was an audible click and Jetstorm's steel blue-and-yellow form became visible. Sam held up their prize, now shrunk to fit him. The belt. As Jetstorm squirmed pathetically, Sam held it above his head while whistling a computer game fanfare in his mind.

"Okay, we got the slagging item," said Hot Rod, "now can we _please_ go back to the ship before another _boss_ character pops out of nowhere and kills us?"

XXX

When the two expeditions returned to the _Endeavour_, their relief and feeling of achievement gave way to confusion and despair. Mikaela was staring off into the distance with Raoul trying to comfort her, but seemingly to no avail. Wheelie was at her feet, looking up and unable to think of anything to say. While the Autobots stared dumbfounded at the desolation, Sam ran over to ask what had happened, though he felt he already knew the answer. This whole set-up stunk of Decepticons.

"They came out of nowhere, man," said Raoul. "Tore the ship apart, Ratchet's in real bad shape…" Jolt heard this and dashed into the ship, calling his mentor's name.

"W…where's Broadcast?" Sam asked, once again filled with dread at the impending answer.

"They took her…" Mikaela whispered. Her voice was hoarse and her cheeks were red from crying. "Starscream took Broadcast away. We have to do something…"

Sam's response was stern. Hard. A statement.

"We'll get her back, Mikaela. I promise."

XXX

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Cast and vehicles introduced in this chapter;

Brian Drummond.........JETSTORM (F-117 Nighthawk)

Frank Welker...........RUMBLE / SLAZER (Argentavis magnificens)


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: "The Battle for Vector Sigma"**

If ever there was a time when the Autobots' morale was at an all-time low, it was now. Not only had Megatron and Starscream thoroughly put the boot to their skid-plates, but they had abducted Broadcast, the last child of Cybertron. In the ship's med-bay, Arcee lay unconscious on one of the beds as her sisters watched over her with worry. For the most part she was undamaged, thanks to the intervention of Tracks, who shoved her out of the path of an oncoming attack courtesy of Megatron's lethal fusion cannon. The blast has taken the blue warrior's arm completely off, and he was in the process of having a new one fitted by Wheeljack.

"Stop fidgeting," said the inventor, "the nerve connectors in your shoulder have to be realigned to fit your new arm." He turned to Sunstreaker, who was in the process of constructing a replacement limb. "How's your part going?"

"Just need to make sure the ball joints aren't too tight," replied the artist. "It's a problem that comes up too much for my liking."

Chromia put one hand across Arcee's forehead and sighed.

"You think she'll be okay, Chromia?" asked Corona.

"Yeah, she's just knocked out," Chromia nodded, "but still…nobody does this to my sister. First Decepticon I see, I'm gonna boot him right up his turbo-charger." With that, she started to roll out of the room.

"Where are you going?" asked Corona.

"To practice," Chromia replied briefly and disappeared. Corona sighed and looked over at Arcee. _Please be okay,_ she thought, _I don't want to be alone…not again._ Her memory files flickered back to what was perhaps the blackest day of her life. She had the full ability to delete it, but something in her fought the very notion and thus it remained untouched. On the other side of the room, Ratchet lay deactivated, totally immobile, as Jolt attached a series of cables that linked the fallen medic to a Spark support machine. The young apprentice was fighting back oily tears, though nothing could quell the tide of rage bubbling in his fuel-lines. Starscream would pay for this ten, nay, a hundred-fold. When he was through, the only thing left would be a black-and-silver puddle. Jolt looked down at his wrists, at the thin ports from which his electro-whips grew when called upon. The Decepticon who dared harm his master would feel the full force of his anger. Roaring, he snapped one of the whips and sliced an empty bed cleanly in half, drawing the attention of everybody present.

"What are you lookin' at?!" he demanded.

"Easy, Jolt," said Wheeljack softly, "we're all upset, but we have to stay cool. We'll get 'em back, don't you worry."

Optimus, Prowl and Ironhide were gathered together on the command bridge with the intention of discussing their plan of retaliation. The Autobot leader's head hung against his chest. He was wallowing in his failure to stop the abduction, to stop the damage done to his team, to stop the brutality that left one of his oldest friends dead to the world.

"You did what you could, Prime," said Ironhide.

"And came out better than any of us would have," agreed Prowl. Optimus said nothing. His two subordinates looked at each other, unable to mask their deep-seated anguish. What they could not see was that their ruler was repeating one word in his processor. A loop that slowly grew faster until it was little more than an electronic hum. _Megatron._

In the room that served as quarters for the six humans, Mikaela was racing round in a fit of determined vengeance, throwing items into the rucksack on one of the beds; rope, protective body armour and even the spare guns and magazines full of ammunition that the soldiers had brought along. She was babbling about giving the Decepticons a piece of her mind, even if she had to take them all on herself, and that come hell or high water, nothing would stop her from saving Broadcast. _Her_ Broadcast. Wheelie - in his disguise as a radio-controlled toy monster truck – was whizzing around the floor to avoid the stamping feet and flying objects, some of which bounced off the floor as she sifted through what would come in handy and what was just useless junk. What Mikaela failed to notice in her rush was that as she stuffed equipment _into_ the bag, Sam and Lennox were taking it back _out_ and setting it down tidily by the bed. Raoul, Epps and Simmons watched this almost vaudevillian chase scene somewhere between amusement and the decision of whether or not to say something.

"Betcha five bucks it's another five minutes before she notices," Epps whispered.

"I'd give it less than two," Raoul whispered back. Epps would soon part with his five dollars as Mikaela spun round and saw the two men with their hands in the rucksack. They grinned sheepishly.

"You realise, boys…" Mikaela's voice was slow and dangerous, "…that since we're on an alien planet, it's _not_ illegal for me to rip your sacks off and stuff them down your throats."

"Think she's serious?" Sam asked quietly.

"As a married man," replied Lennox, "I can tell you she's _deadly_ serious."

XXX

Lockdown glared at the miserable Decepticon warrior kneeling at his feet. Jetstorm had delivered his report in person and was now covering his head with both hands as if such a meagre defence would spare him from the wrath of his master. Lockdown was not sure what sickened him more; the posture, the burnt-out appearance, or just the stupidity.

"So…" the gladiator fumed, "you're telling me that you found an item, which you not only failed to tell me about, but lost within a mere mega-cycle, and you sent Slazer and Rumble, two valuable reconnaissance operatives into a combat situation against an entire squad of Autobots?! Dear Primus, Jetstorm! I knew you were a lunatic, but I never would have taken you for a complete moron!"

"Please, Lord Lockdown," Jetstorm squeaked pathetically, "give me a second chance, I'll make it up to you!"

"Well…" Lockdown stroked his chin thoughtfully, "you may still serve a purpose…"

"R-really?" Jetstorm looked up hopefully. Lockdown nodded then turned to Bludgeon.

"I remember you saying you needed a new sparring partner," he said maliciously, "so he's all yours." Jetstorm began to protest, but his screams and struggles were futile as Bludgeon grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him out of the room. A few more moments passed, then there was the sound of a blade swinging through the air and the flyer fell permanently silent. _Well, he lasted longer than the previous one,_ Lockdown thought, tittering to himself. _Hmm…so far the Autobots have done most of the work for me. I could work this to my advantage._

In the makeshift nursery at the back end of the ship, Starscream was starting to get a headache. The Autobot Sparkling was fussing at every opportunity. When she was not crying, she was sputtering angrily at him and whenever he attempted to calm her down, she would shout, "No!" or, "Don't wanna!" then go back to crying. He finally managed to shut her up with an Energon goodie. He crouched down and watched her in wonderment. She was a structurally complex little imp, about the size of a human, yet able to fold and compress herself into something that the fleshy female had been able to carry in one hand. Even Frenzy had not been that far advanced. He wondered if it was an omen, a warning sign of approaching change or evolution. His train of thought was broken when the Sparkling chucked the drained remains of the goodie at his head and giggled at his expression. Up above, one of the un-hatched pods began to pulsate.

"Oh, slag, not again!" Starscream muttered under his breath. He turned to the pod to inspect it, and as he did so, Broadcast saw the chance to escape. While her abductor's back was turned, the little Autobot hopped down from the ledge was she perched on and made a dash for the door. She would have been better off staying where she was, because what she came across was far from pleasant. She had stumbled on another room, a small, empty room with a number of edged weapons hanging from one wall. In the middle of it, Bludgeon loomed over the mangled corpse of Jetstorm. His sword glistened with oil that ran to the tip of the blade and dripped to the floor. When the swordsman's gaze landed on her, Broadcast began to back away, right into her put-upon caretaker.

"I'll have to keep a much closer optic on you," Starscream murmured, picking up Broadcast in one huge hand and walking back towards the nursery. Shaken by the traumatising display, the little Autobot put up no resistance.

XXX

Onboard the _Endeavour_, the Autobots had finalised their plan to retrieve Broadcast from their enemies. Prowl chose his procession, which included all six humans, who would infiltrate the opposing base while the warriors would engage the Decepticons in combat as a distraction. When Optimus near-demanded he be allowed to join them, the ship's captain's argument was thus, "Prime, to be quite frank, you'd worry too much about the humans. You would be distracted, and leave yourselves vulnerable, maybe even give the game away. We all have our own levels of concern, but we are much more confident in them and will remain focussed on our part." Optimus was quite offended by this, but he knew the strategist was right. Soon, the rescue party were lined up outside the ship and Prowl called them off one-by-one, each shifting to vehicle form as his name was spoken.

"Bumblebee! Hot Rod! Ironhide! Jolt! Kup! Sideswipe! Sunstreaker! Tracks! Autobots, start your engines!" Sam and Mikaela hopped into Bumblebee, Lennox and Epps into Ironhide, Simmons into Kup and Raoul into Tracks.

"Autobots," commanded the Ford Granada in the lead, "let's roll out!" With a rumble of motors, the convoy took off.

"I've tuned my radar to Decepticon's energy signature," said Sideswipe. "Mega-butt and Star-squeak are thirty hics northward, off the border of what used to be the Offenbax Gallop. Two more in close vicinity and a faint Autobot signature as well."

"That must be Broadcast," said Mikaela.

"Then follow my lead," said Prowl. "Enter swift interception mode, Patriot Arrow Formation." With their captain still in the lead, the others began to close around him until they formed the tight shape of an arrowhead. Wheeljack remained at the base to look over Ratchet and Arcee. Chromia had wanted to go, but Corona's concern for their eldest sister convinced her to reluctantly stay behind on guard duty. None of them were able to stop their leader, and now a blue Peterbilt painted with brilliant scarlet flames was crawling a dozen or so yards behind them.

XXX

The Autobots did not go unnoticed. The moment they came into the vicinity of the Decepticon ship, Strika burst into the bridge to report to Lockdown.

"My Lord!" she exclaimed. "Nine Autobots have been detected on the approach!"

"Oh my, they're early," remarked Lockdown. "Good." He raised his gauntleted right hand and clenched his fist. The gem glowed and a charged blade as long as his forearm extended from it. "I've been waiting to put this to good use."

Behind him, Megatron said, "They are here for the Sparkling…and Optimus is near. I _feel_ it in my core. I shall put an end to him once and for all."

"No," said Lockdown, "you can't kill him, Meggy. We need him alive."

"What?!" Megatron demanded, turning to face the general.

"I will explain in good time," said Lockdown with a raise of his hand. Megatron grabbed him by the wrist and bellowed in his face, "You will explain _**now**_!" The conversation was unable to continue as a heavy incendiary blast struck the side of their ship and rocked it, throwing the gathered Decepticons to the floor.

XXX

Ironhide and Kup led the assault on the ship as Bumblebee crept round to the back end with all six humans inside. They reached the multitude of thrusters tubes jutting from the end and the yellow Camaro transformed to robot mode, lifting his passengers to the tubes and they began to crawl upward and inward. It was the only way for them to pass unseen, but as they travelled up the lightless tunnel, Simmons prayed again and again, _Don't let them turn it on…_ Every so often they would come to a stop so the vibrations caused by the furious brawl would not shake them loose.

"Okay, all of a sudden I'm thinkin' I shoulda stayed in New York," said Raoul, "though breakin' into an alien warship, that's cool too. Gives ya somethin' to tell the folks back home, don't it? If we ever get home of course…since we might get shot into teeny, tiny particles but at least in our last moments we could look back and say-"

"Shut up, Raoul," Mikaela interrupted.

XXX

In the midst of the battle, Prowl deflected a sword-swipe from Bludgeon as the two fought one-on-one.

"Should've known you and your master would be lurking around like the loathsome insects you are," scowled the Autobot captain. "I owe you one for Colony Digamma."

"Digamma…" Bludgeon cocked an eyebrow-plate as he tried to remember. "Ah, you mean the refugee security drones I encountered."

"Those 'drones,' as you put it," replied Prowl venomously, "were my _friends_!" Across the room, Lockdown was caught between Jolt and Hot Rod. The apprentice medic wrapped his electro-whips around the general's right wrist as Hot Rod peppered him with laser bolts from his finger-blasters.

"Curse you, you Autobot vermin!" he growled. "Do you think a champion of gladiatorial combat cannot dispatch such menial templars as yourselves? Pay for your idiocy!" He pulled with all his might and sent Jolt flying into Hot Rod. "Where on Cybertron is Megatron?!"

XXX

Megatron stood atop one of the high rock formations as his brother drove towards the ship.

"Prime!" he called, withdrawing his right hand and letting his heavy morning-star slide out on its chain, crackling with purple energy.

"Megatron," Optimus replied, transforming to robot mode and unsheathing one of his battle-axes, glowing in kind with golden power. "Let's end this."

"No force in the universe will stop me now, brother," the ancient High Lord hissed, "not even you."

"My thoughts exactly," the Autobot ruler responded. As one robot, they unleashed a furious battle-cry and leapt towards each other. No quarter would be asked. No quarter would be given.

XXX

Starscream did not join in the battle. No, he was too worried about his precious pods. As the nursery shook from each intense impact from the fight, the winged warrior twirled and pranced like a dervish to keep the fragile unborn Decepticons in their safe alcoves. If only he had realised they would be at risk, he would have worked out a way to protect them without Lockdown's help. They would soon be born, he was too close to lose them now! The future of the Transformer race was now in his two hands. They would live…and if they did not, he would tear open Lockdown and his thrice-damned minions as payback. What he failed to notice was the six humans, who had finally managed to find their way into his little hideaway.

Mikaela was in the lead, making her way towards Broadcast.

"Hey, baby," she whispered. The newborn Autobot turned and released a loud, happy chirp, and before the human she had come to view as her mother could shush her, Starscream was staring right at them.

"You…" the flyer flexed his digits. "This time I'll put an end to your meddling!"

"Run for it!" Lennox shouted as he, Epps and Simmons raised their respective guns and fired on Starscream. The damage they did to his armour was minimal at best, but it stalled him enough for the entire group of humans to make good their escape. Starscream howled in outrage and entered pursuit. He was much faster in his flight-worthy mode, but the corridor was too narrow, too low for him to fly. He would simply crash, so he would have to settle for running on foot. Lennox knew the Decepticon was going to catch them soon and began fishing around in his backpack. A net fired out, the move that caught Raoul and Mikaela before, but Lennox was ready. He spun round, a golden gauntlet clamped over his left arm. The ruby embedded in its back glowed and a wide, turquoise circle grew out of it in every direction, and the net flopped uselessly against it.

"I don't know how you got that kind of kit, human," Starscream growled, retracting the net, "but it won't keep you safe from me for long!" The chase took them further and further into the ship, until they came smack-dab into the middle of the battle.

"Well, that didn't go exactly to plan," said Simmons.

"Oh, shit," Epps agreed in his own little way. While the Autobots outnumbered the Decepticons considerably, Lockdown, Bludgeon, Strika and now Starscream (dragged into the conflict no matter what his intent may have been) seemed to be in their own element. Their tactics generally gravitated around throwing their enemies out of the cramped and limiting battleground. While the humans ran for cover to avoid the actively moving feet of Strika, the ceiling above them exploded in a shower of metal and hot flecks of white fire. Megatron crashed into the bridge and landed with a resonating series of thuds, crashes and tinkers.

"Stop breaking holes in my lovely ship!" Lockdown wailed.

"Master!" Bludgeon raced to his superior. "Are you wounded?"

"I'm fine!" Lockdown snapped, pushing past his lieutenant. "Take the others and deal with those Autobot fools." He then pointed the tip of his blade at the dazed Megatron. "You! What is the meaning of this?! You disappear in the middle of a fight and then come smashing through like a beryllium-bull-droid in a china shop?!" While he was quite content to continue this rather agitated rant, it was brought to an end by the High Lord himself. Megatron's leg sprang out in a spasmodic kick that knocked the general onto his posterior with a grunt.

"You talk too much," said Megatron. Bludgeon moved to defend his master but soon learned that the only thing more dangerous than a Decepticon overlord was a highly aggravated Decepticon overlord. He landed sideways across Lockdown. Megatron stood up and dusted his hands off, then shot a glare at Strika as if to say, _'don't move a gyro.'_ A blue truck cab thundered up the gangplank into the ship, surprising Autobot and Decepticon alike. Megatron growled and clutched the oncoming Juggernaut's nose section as it tore into the opposite wall, leaving a Transformer-shaped dent. Optimus returned to his humanoid robot shape and the two brothers proceeded to pummel one another. Then, something rather peculiar happened. Time froze and the world, nay, it felt like the universe, was filled with a beautiful song and a celestial light. A panel flipped open in Optimus' chest, revealing the coveted key, the Matrix of Leadership, aglow with life and benevolent, mesmerising light. Lockdown's blade, Lennox's shield, Mikaela's ring and Sam's belt began to shine with it, and finally a spot of light opened on Sam's forehead. Bumblebee's own chest cavity popped open and the strange object he had been hiding flew out. Reality returned to its normal pace as the object faded into a ball of crystal light above the gathered robots and humans.

"Yes…" Lockdown breathed. "That's it! The Key!"

"It can't be…" Megatron whispered.

"It really exists…" Ironhide mumbled.

"In all my years, I ain't never seen nothin' like this," Kup croaked. Lockdown burst into raucous laughter.

"The Key to Vector Sigma!" he bellowed. "Now! Take me to my destiny!" The key flashed and flew away, leaving a trail of green dashes, yellow dots and silver alien characters. Lockdown ran after it until he was out in the open air, jumping up and transforming into a formidable B-2 Spirit. Bludgeon sheathed his sword and transformed as well, following his master.

"How are we supposed to catch up to him?" Sideswipe growled. "He's too fast!"

"We'll see," said Hot Rod, transforming to car mode. "Sam, bring the items and get in."

"But Hot Rod-" Optimus tried to stop him but at this point Megatron had recovered his senses and dealt him a most painful punch to the chin. The impact dislodged the Matrix and sent it circling into the air. Hot Rod flipped open one of his doors and the item landed neatly in the seat. Sam started towards the car but Mikaela put a hand on his arm.

"Wait-" she started, but Sam lifted a hand to silence her.

"No, babe," he shook his head. "Stay here."

"I'm with her," Lennox put in. "You and him on your own against that nutcase? No way."

"Do you mind?" Hot Rod growled. "The longer you stand there talking, the further away the bad guys get! The way I drive, I don't really want any of you along but since the kid's got the All Spark in his brain he _needs_ to come. Now move it!" Bumblebee whirred in worried concern.

"Sorry, Big Guy," said Hot Rod, "but this situation calls for _speed_, and I'm a hell of a lot faster than you."

"Don't worry, Bee," Sam assured his loyal car, "I'll be fine. You just look after the rest for me, okay?" Bumblebee saluted in response.

Strika fired two rockets at Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, blowing up a cloud of dust and propelling the twins like bouncing balls across the landscape. Jolt's whip wrapped itself around Strika's neck and the fem-bot was pulled back onto her posterior. Starscream launched himself at Ironhide and Kup but a simultaneous punch from the two veterans put him head-first through the wall of the ship. The flyer released an indignant cry. Optimus and Megatron continued their struggle, tearing the bridge apart all around them. With all this chaos around him, one can come to understand the urgency Hot Rod was feeling. With the four items in their possession loaded into the passenger seat and Sam belted securely in the driver's seat, the young Autobot gunned his engines and sped off after the two Decepticons, thankfully still just in view. Lockdown and Bludgeon were fast, but Hot Rod was faster. As Sam was pushed tightly back against the leather of his seat, the maroon-coloured car soon caught up with the two vehicles.

"Deal with him," the bomber said briefly. The rose red car moved in on the Autobot and started to grind against its side.

"This isn't good," Sam gulped.

"Don't worry, I'll handle this son of a glitch," Hot Rod told him, and thus the furious demolition derby began, with each car attempting to force the other into the nearest rock formation or sandy trench. Neither saw nor were able to veer away in time as they skidded off the edge of the world and into a deep, dark hell-mouth. Lined with jagged rocks protruding from either side like broken predatory fangs, the two opponents were knocked about the canyon like ragdolls. Sam held on for dear life as Hot Rod ricocheted off the edge and spiralled into Bludgeon, allowing one aforementioned spike to carve a deep scar in the Decepticon warrior's roof. Lockdown swooped beneath his lieutenant and Bludgeon transformed to robot mode, planting both feet neatly on the bomber's wings. He unsheathed his sword and began to channel energy through the blade until it vibrated so fast it seemed to be glowing. Bludgeon swung the sword and a crescent-shaped energy projection flew out. Hot Rod cursed in his mind. He could not transform to defend himself. He could easily remove the boy in time, but the items would be lost, if they were not caught in his gears. As the items pinged and ponged around the interior of the car, Sam caught hold of the gauntlet. Sliding it over his arm, he concentrated, wished for something to stop the oncoming attack, and lo and behold! A circle of turquoise light grew out from the triangular ruby and washed over the human and the car. Bludgeon's attack dissipated against the shield.

"Puny Autobot," Bludgeon growled.

"Hot Rod! Take him down!" Sam cried, quickly pulling on the belt, ring and clutching the Matrix in both hands. The Autobot transformed to robot mode, clutching the boy in one hand, and fired a direct shot from his finger-blasters at Bludgeon. Unable to stabilise himself, the Decepticon warrior was shot from his master's back and screamed as he landed on one of the stone spikes on the wall, impaled neatly through the abdomen. Hot Rod returned to his car form just in time to land with a heavy bump on the canyon floor. The only way out of the narrow crack in the planet was a narrow tunnel. The fading trail of the Key led straight into its murky throat. Hot Rod sped inside while Lockdown screeched and swore angrily. He was far too big to continue following his quarry, and even in robot mode he was too tall for the tunnel.

XXX

Able to relax at least a little, Hot Rod began to slow down. He wound down his windows, and Sam sighed in gratitude. He was sweating buckets, so the cooling wind of the cavern was very much welcome. The walls of the tunnel were covered in ancient Cybertronian characters and pictures, like a Transformer homage to the mysterious paintings believed to have been made by prehistoric man on Earth. They came into a great expansive natural chamber, where the only solid platform was a bridge stretching across the dark abyss to what Sam recognised as the Greek theatre from his dream. Nobody was seated round the rows of seats, no Egyptian priestess and no bearded scholar. Nesting in the middle of the arena was not the golden super-mind, but a wide, grey ball that reminded him of the Cube, the physical shell that contained the ethereal All Spark. The Key to Vector Sigma, which had been hovering in front of the ball, became its usual plain self and clattered uselessly to the floor. The entire place was illuminated by an eldritch green-yellow light that radiated from a cluster of gemstones that took a large portion of the ceiling. The car stopped opposite the arena and Sam climbed out, still clad in the items. He took a few steps down the carved stairs towards the ball. He picked up the Key in his free hand and held it up to what could only be Vector Sigma itself.

"Why isn't anything happening?" he asked after a long pause. No answer. No ghostly Primes. Nothing. "Come on! Why the heck did you make _me_ the Herald when I can't even open the damn thing up?!" Hot Rod transformed to robot mode and attempted to pry the thing open with his hands, but that too was futile.

"It's shut up tighter than a space-gnat's ring-hole," he grunted.

"As it should be," said a deep, rich voice. Sam and Hot Rod turned round to see the lanky, skull-faced apparition of Lockdown emerging from the shadows and into the weird light. Bits of rubble clung to his body, which meant he had most likely blasted open the tunnel mouth so it would fit him better. "You almost had me for a click there, boys, but thankfully my fears were unfounded. You overlooked one important detail."

"What are you talking about, Decepti-scum?" Hot Rod demanded with one finger extended accusingly.

"Only a Prime can open the chamber," said Lockdown. "I had hoped to come here and have Optimus Prime follow me, but with you two as hostages, it's a done deal, wouldn't you say? Now, be good little fellows and give yourselves up. You'd actually stand a chance of surviving that way."

"Suck my nodes," Hot Rod sneered.

"A bit crude, but I get your point," Lockdown willed the blade of his gauntlet to extend. "Now _you'll_ get _mine_."

"Sam, the shield," said Hot Rod. Sam nodded and held the gauntlet up to him. Hot Rod took hold of it and immediately it grew to fit him. He slid it over his left hand and the ruby crackled with energy.

Lockdown tapped the blade against the soles of his feet, a ritual he had maintained since his gladiatorial days. He raised the weapon into his favoured position and uttered, "_En guarde_!" The two metal giants circled one another, each sizing up the opposition. Lockdown launched forward with a battle-cry. Hot Rod rolled out of the way just in time to avoid the celestial sword, which sliced a deep gash into the stone ground. The young Autobot kicked his enemy in the back and Lockdown growled, pulling the blade free to attack again.

XXX

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker threw Strika on top of Starscream and dusted their hands off. Prowl retrieved two sets of large energised handcuffs from a cavity in his hip and slapped them on the barely conscious prisoners' wrists. When they tried to wriggle free, Kup and Ironhide lowered their firearms on them.

"You move even an inch…" began the latter.

"And you'll get a face-full of hot boom-stick," finished the former. Bumblebee and Jolt emerged from the ship with the remaining humans.

"We found a hatchery in back," said the medic. "Few of the pods are broken but some are still alive."

"No…" Starscream groaned. "Leave them alone." All optics fell on him.

Across the desert, Optimus and Megatron continued to grapple. The tank kicked up screens of ash and dust with its tracks and cannon bursts, while the lorry swerved and dodged around it with superior manoeuvrability. Both vehicles transformed and unsheathed their respective energy weapons. Megatron swung the morning-star at Optimus, but the Autobot's golden axe sliced the chain neatly in half and the spiked ball impacted on the planet's surface. The High Lord fumed and slammed his hands together at arm's length and just as always the long barrel of the fusion cannon extended and immediately started powering up with a tell-tale fizzling sound.

"This time I'm going to eviscerate you."

"Megatron…" Optimus ran straight towards him with one clenched fist held out. "Put a cork in it!" He jammed the fallen morning-star deep into the barrel and backpedalled. Megatron's optics widened as the cannon exploded, taking a large chunk out of his right arm and disintegrating numerous patches from his armour. Too damaged to continue the fight, the High Lord stood up, holding a shell-wound in his chest with his remaining hand.

"We will finish this another time," he wheezed, activating the shaky propulsion thrusters in his back and swirling away into the sky like a dancing bullet. Oh yes, he would return. So long as Optimus Prime's Spark pulsated, so long as an Autobot functioned, so long as goodness remained, Megatron's evil would live on.

XXX

Hot Rod propped himself up against the wall of the arena, his shield held up to protect him. His vents trembled as he panted for breath. Lockdown smirked as he took slow steps towards the tired Autobot, licking his lips with his forked tongue.

"You've been quite lucky so far, dear boy," he chuckled. "Let's be honest, if it weren't for that shield, this fight would already be long over."

The shield flickered.

"Look at you. You're so tired you barely have the willpower to maintain it. You fought well, but ultimately you're just a little boy. I was born into conflict, it's in my nature. Now…" He swung the blade down on the shield, and after just seconds of resistance, it shattered like glass. Hot Rod slipped to his knees. Lockdown purred and put the tip of his sword to the young warrior's throat.

"You fought very well, so I'll make this quick."

It never struck him to wonder where the human had gone. He assumed the germ was squashed underfoot, not realising it possessed items of its own. Presently, Sam was standing nearby. The belt round his waist cloaked him from their sensors, and he was holding out the ring. He remembered the mish-mash of pieces in the graveyard, the monster, and a thought came to him. What could the ring do? It was a guess, but worth taking if it could save Hot Rod. Sam pleaded for the ring to grant him its power, and then it happened. Lockdown paused, optics narrowing, mandibles hanging open. There was a sickly sound of metal breaking and thick liquids oozing, slug-like, from pipes. The blade of the gauntlet faded as the severed arm crashed to the floor. Lockdown took several wobbling footsteps back, not quite sure if what he was feeling was shock or pain.

"Do it, Hot Rod!" Sam cried, throwing off the cloak of invisibility. Hot Rod nodded and slid the other gauntlet over his right hand. His will restored, the blade materialised and the warrior raised it.

"Say your prayers," he said.

"Well…" Lockdown croaked, "this could have gone better."

**SHLICK!**

Bump…bump…clunk…the general released a final breathy sigh and his optics slid shut. The headless body dropped to its knees and then onto its side, spilling oil over the floor. Sam stared into that grim visage, for it had landed barely inches from him, and he was quite sure he could feel a warm patch spreading in the front of his jeans.

"Thanks…" Hot Rod mumbled, collapsing into a seated position. "Wake me up in about a hundred stellar cycles, okay?" A long time passed before Sam could force his body to work again. Being so close to these titanic duels always had this effect on him. It took the oxygen out of his lungs and the sense from his brains. Only the rumbling of approaching tyres roused him, as Optimus Prime approached from the tunnel mouth. Now, with seven items in hand, human and robot advanced on the huge ball in which Vector Sigma slept. Behind them stood the ghosts of the six long dead Primes.

"I knew the kid could do it," smirked Sentinel Prime.

"Oh shush," remarked Magnus Prime, giving her brother a smack on the chest.

"Today is the dawning of a new age for Cybertron," said Prima, the First and the Best. Optimus Prime reached forth. The ball split. Rebirth.


	8. Chapter 8 Final

**Chapter 8: "The Start of Something New"**

"I never thought I'd function to see this day," said Optimus as the great shell cracked apart to reveal its contents; a honeycombed sphere two or three times taller than a Transformer and as wide and round as a hot air balloon, with fragments of red, blue and yellow floating in its nucleus. Seven of the honeycomb's chambers were missing, taken from seemingly random areas. The six items – the two gauntlets, the belt, the ring, the Matrix and the Key – lay in a neat pile on the floor. Optimus lifted the Matrix first and held it out towards the heart of Cybertron. A warm, gold light spread from the centre of the little device, engulfing it and condensing it into the shape of one of the missing chambers. The Matrix floated away and slotted itself neatly into one of the seven holes, taking on the gentler tone of the ball itself. One-by-one, Sam and Optimus handed back the six corporeal things, until one hole remained. When nothing seemed to happen, they became worried.

"How am I supposed to put the All Spark in?" Sam gulped. "It's still in my head." Optimus had no answer for him. He dimmed his optics to think about this, though this was rendered unnecessary seconds later. Sam heard the voice ringing in his head. The six good Ancient Primes, stood around the two chosen ones, and Sam could see the avatars ahead of him. The Greek scholar and the Egyptian priestess were smiling in welcome and each holding out a hand to greet him.

"I know…" he said quietly, and walked forward. The two avatars took him by the hand, and all three of them were pulled up into the glistening orb above them. Within the heavenly inner space of Vector Sigma, Sam felt at peace. Seven dots of light opened on his body, going from the crown of his head to just below his waist. From these chakras poured forth the sealed might and wisdom of the All Spark. Millennia passed through his mind, from the birth of the world when the galaxy was very, very young, through times of learning, harmony and chaos, births and deaths, the light of countless eons, and then…it was gone, the knowledge returned to its rightful place. When Sam's eyes opened, he was perched on the shoulder of Optimus Prime (he would come to know later he had fallen out, barely conscious and the Autobot ruler had put him there himself) and they watched together as the last hole healed itself and the golden field of flying Cybertronian characters appeared, moving so fast around their core that it was like a whirlwind of light.

"Do you believe it is done, Sam?" asked Optimus.

"I do, Big Bot," replied Sam. "I do."

"You have done well, Optimus Prime," said a voice, as the six Primes appeared before them. Optimus took a step back in surprise, but quickly regained his composure. After a moment, he knelt down in respect to his ancestors.

"We have watched you for a long time," said winged Nova Prime.

"You and this boy have stood against terrible and vast evil," said ghostly Gladius Prime, "and conquered it with courage and tenacity."

"We are proud to call you one of us," said beautiful Magnus Prime, "you have proven the potential of your races."

"But so long as good exists," warned knightly Vector Prime, "then there must always be evil to maintain the balance, or the equation will fall apart."

"So watch your backs," smirked sardonic Sentinel Prime, "especially you, meat-bag." Magnus shot a glare at her brother.

"Continue to lead your people to magnificence," said angelic Prima, "so the Transformers and the humans will live on forever. We will meet again, Optimus Prime and Sam Witwicky of Earth…but until that day…"

The six of them saluted together and an echoing chorus broke out, "'Till all are one!" With that, they vanished into their creator's body. Optimus stood and saluted them in return, repeating that oh-so-sacred mantra, "'Till all are one." Unbeknownst to them, Hot Rod had been roused from his unconscious state in time to see everything, phantoms included. It was a memory he would always cherish in his core. Vector Sigma pulsated, and then released a cleansing wave that spread in every direction. Cybertron was revitalised and its face changed forever.

XXX

The Autobots and humans gathered outside Bludgeon's ruined ship and the grounded _Endeavour_ gazed across the landscape in wonderment. The diseased desert that was Cybertron crumbled and evaporated like water under a hot sun, revealing new life underneath. Fields of smooth, cool metal and rows of pipeline trees now shared the land with lush green grass and beds of flowers and plants. The condemned, naturally occurring buildings reassembled themselves. The sky turned like mixed paint from a polluted yellow-green to a more welcoming, if still alien soft purple. Barriers grew up to separate the seas and rivers of mercury from new sources of water. Lennox started coughing as the cure even touched him and his human friends, literally sucking tobacco tar out of his lungs, along with all those other nasty little things his species had become accustomed to in Earth's atmosphere.

"It…" Ironhide actually felt tears come to his optics as he watched his home returning to life, "…it's beautiful." The bound Starscream and Strika were also moved to humbleness before such a grand spectacle of evolution. After all, this was _their_ home too. Inside the _Endeavour_, the communications array (which had not been damaged in the previous fight) lit up and an Autobot hailing frequency came through. Wheeljack switched his vocaliser to his native dialect and opened a channel.

"This is auxiliary medical officer Wheeljack of the _Endeavour_," he said, "identify yourselves please."

"This is Red Alert, commanding officer of the _Brightstar_," was the response. "We received a communication from Optimus Prime regarding habitation on planet Earth, but we were denied access. My surveillance operative detected Prime's recent energy signature _en route_ back to Cybertron and followed. Requesting situation update."

"You're welcome to join the party, Captain Red Alert," said Wheeljack with growing excitement. "Cybertron ain't what she used to be. I'm sending you our exact coordinates now." He began typing on the keys as Corona rolled into the room.

"What's going on, Wheeljack?" she asked.

"We've got guests," the inventor beamed. He hit the button to send their location to their fellow Autobots. Some time passed, and the entire team were reunited as another cigar-shaped vessel descended to the ground just a short distance away from them. Raoul looked in the direction of where Iacon stood once more.

"You were right, man," he said to Tracks, "those towers are really somethin' else."

"That they are, my friend," the dark blue Autobot nodded, "that they are." With Optimus in the lead, the group (sans Jolt, who stayed behind to monitor his still prone mentor's body in the med-bay) made their way over to the _Brightstar_ as the door slid open and a ramp extended. A white robot accented with black and red emerged with three others behind him.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Prime," said the white robot.

"The pleasure is all mine, captain," replied Optimus.

"I am Red Alert," said the white robot, "these are my crew. My first lieutenant, Inferno…"

"G'day, all," said a tall, red one with a horned head in a cheerful Australian accent.

"…My ship's gunner, Gears…"

"Yeah, how ya all doin'?" said a little blue robot who seemed more engaged in staring with unsure disapproval at the funny new environment. It really did not sit well with him at all.

"…And our surveillance engineer, Huffer…"

"Hey, uh, you got vermin round here. You could, uh, do somethin' 'bout that," muttered a lavender robot with bits of orange armour and an incredibly deep and slow voice, "but, uh, no, it's nice to be back home, really, and it's nice to meet you too, Optimus Prime." Simmons' eyebrow twitched at the insult and he went for the handgun inside his jacket but Lennox stopped him with a hand on the shoulder and a shake of his head.

"Is it just you four?" asked Kup.

"There were seven of us," replied Red Alert, "but sadly three of my crew were a little too eager and went to Earth before we could contact the planet's authorities. We're not quite sure what happened to them."

"I'm sure they're fine," Inferno shrugged. "All three of 'em are nutty little critters, but tough-as-nails all the same."

XXX

What was to be done with Starscream? The nursery found inside the Decepticon ship could not be ignored, nor could they simply eliminate innocents who were yet to be born. Broadcast stroked the surface of one of the pods gently and the creature inside reacted, pressing its hand to meet hers through the rubbery film that separated them. Optimus, Hot Rod, Sam, Mikaela and Red Alert's crew were gathered in the room together. Starscream was on his knees, wrists tied behind his back.

"Prime, I beseech you," said the Decepticon, "if not for my sake, but for theirs, allow me to continue raising them."

"As Decepticons?" Hot Rod snorted. "As if."

"Hold your tongue, Hot Rod," said Optimus before looking down at the prisoner. "We do not persecute the blameless. It is not our way."

"What point would there be in raising them as Decepticons?" asked Starscream. "It's a lost cause. Lockdown and Megatron are both dead." Optimus felt his vents stiffen. He knew Megatron had escaped him with his life, but something kept him from voicing this. Conscience? Pity for Starscream? Perhaps a wish not to voice so lest their prisoner's appeal be denied. "I want peace on this planet as much as you all do, therefore I will raise them as neutrals."

"That is a noble decision, Starscream," Optimus nodded, "and I would be happy to designate you an official nursery guardian…under Autobot supervision." Starscream did not protest.

"Yeah but who'd have enough screws loose to babysit this nut-job?" Gears scoffed.

"Thanks for volunteering," replied Red Alert, shoving the smaller robot forward before he could protest. "And Huffer would be more than happy to join him."

"Now hold up-" Huffer started, but he stifled himself when he saw Red Alert pointing a pistol at him. "Uh, I, um, I mean, sure, sure…" He tilted his head slightly and glared first at his commanding officer and then at Starscream. The Decepticon forced a grin and shrugged his shoulders.

"Then it is settled," said Optimus Prime.

XXX

The first few days of the new Transformer-human co-existence were awkward, but the crew from Earth soon got used to things. A week after the Great Rebirth, Sam and Mikaela sat together on a beach, looking out at the sun rising above the crest of the Bobudian Ocean. As Sam was about to place his arm around her shoulders, a tiny voice yelled, "Leave me alone ya big brat!" The two turned round to see the diminutive Wheelie running along the sand as a skinny, peach-and-coral pink fem-bot chased after him. When the tiny robot tripped over, Broadcast pulled her foot back and dealt him an almighty kick up the backside, propelling him far and long across the coast.

"AAAUGH!"

"Broadcast!" Sam called over. "Quit picking on Wheelie, he can't help being a little chrome creepazoid!" Mikaela smirked and gave him a playful punch on the shoulder.

"Uh, sorry, Dad," Broadcast murmured, clasping her hands behind her back and rubbing the tip of her foot in the sand innocently. She did not really mean it, and her tones made that obvious, but to be quite honest Sam found the cartoon assault hilarious. When he smiled at his 'daughter,' she raced towards him to tackle-hug him, but froze up when the Autobot brand on her chest started to flash.

"Incoming signal," she said. Her face-plate slid open to reveal a radio speaker and a familiar, old voice with a distinguished Texan accent spoke, "I hope this signal reaches you, this is Secretary Keller calling any Autobots…"

"Turn the volume up, honey," said Mikaela. Broadcast nodded and Keller's voice came through louder, "…mysterious alien vessels of non-Transformer origin have been spotted in Earth's aerospace. We're not sure what they want, whether they're hostile or friendly, or even if they can understand us, but…I humbly beg Optimus Prime to forgive us for exiling him and his kind…please come back, even if it's just to say 'no,' please…come back…"

XXX

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Cast introduced in this chapter;

Michael Gross..........RED ALERT

Tristan Rogers.........INFERNO

Ray Romano.............GEARS

Brad Garrett...........HUFFER

Thanks for reading everybody! Keep your eyes open for more projects from the two of us, including the (very) tentatively titled _Aspects of Evil 2_!


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